


Blind

by pinkshadow147



Series: The Pines Twins [1]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: A small character death, Alcohol, Angst, Fight Wounds, Fluff, Gen, Mental Attack, Mental Instability, Toxic air, alien fights, blind faith au, cabin fever, other dimension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-27
Updated: 2016-11-11
Packaged: 2018-08-27 09:12:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 53,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8395924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkshadow147/pseuds/pinkshadow147
Summary: Blind Faith AUSpecifically based off of a head cannon idea by thesnadger on Tumblr (http://thesnadger.tumblr.com/post/127663058830/blind-faith-au).Set some time after impishnature's one shots.Ford fell into the portal. Stan jumped in after him. BF! Stan and Ford run into original GF! Ford. They deal with more aftermath of the cave, and focus on staying alive in the portal.Started as an attempt to delve into the co-dependancy the twins have after the cave.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I love this AU. 
> 
> It's already inspired me to write so much.

They were running for their lives. The small city was being invaded by slave traders, ready to take the people and sell them as commerce. Stanley gripped Ford's sleeve as his brother led the way.

Stan's slowly returning sight made travel much easier, but it was still a challenge to scramble over rocks and other loose debree as they made their way along.

All around them floating spaceships used their blue light tractor beems to whisk their victims off the ground and into their prisons within. Stan had to concentrate hard on looking at the ground beneath him instead of focusing on the chaotic screams that echoed from behind. If the two brothers wanted to make it out of there they had to focus on the path in front of them.

But in Stan's effort to block out the noise, he lost his concentration and tripped. Ford quickly stopped and leaned over him. Stan felt his brother's hand take his and tug at him to get up. He heard the words that his brother wanted to yell fall flat in his lips. Ford couldn't speak, but his frantic jesters were clear enough.

Stan scrambled to his feet and they kept going.

Soon they saw the blue light above their heads. Quickly Ford pulled them out of the way and they summersaulted to the side as the beam closed in. The two of them scrambled to their feet once again and made a break for the trees infront of them. They knew they'd be safer in the density of the forest. Ford had Stan's arm and they kept making their way onward.

The light came above them once more. They jumped out of the way and Stan heard the crackling energy go off behind him.

He was breathing heavily, his heart racing, but he got to his feet. They were so close. Only a few meters till they reached the green cover of the trees.

Looking around he saw blurred shapes moving at impossible speeds. People were starting to get the idea and we're heading their way. The ships in the air wizzed by as they picked up one unfortunate soul after another. Stan focused on his brothers movements, counting on his hand to guide him.

Thoughts bombarded his mind, but he forced them away and concentrated on the moment. He focused his attention on the dim shapes littering the ground. He focused on the sway of their movements and the sounds of their steps as they ran. He could even start to see the outlines of larger rocks and some sticks as they passed by. Ford had a steel grip on his arm and was intent on the shrubbery infront of them. They both skirted the sandy landscape and made their way to desert trees growing infront of them.

Then Stan felt nothing.

He tripped with the sudden loss of support and stumbled the last few feet into the trees. He heard a crackling noise behind him and smelt the burning power of energy. Quickly his eyes flicked across his surroundings.

"Ford!" He yelled.

A dark gray blur zoomed out and away from above his head, careening across the sky. His eyes widened in understanding as he realized his brother had been caught in one of the beams.

"Ford!" He knew his brother couldn't hear him, but he didn't care. He mind suddenly spiraled into confusion as he tried to make sense of things.

_Ford's_ _gone, he's GONE. Wh-what am_ _I_ _supposed to DO?_

Without thinking he ran out from under the safety of the trees and started waving him arms.

"Over here! Come and get me you yellow bellied thugs!" 

He knew it was insane but he couldn't help but think what might happen if the ships soared away to another planet with his brother. He shivered at the idea that he might never see him again.

But none of the slave ships came his way. Infact they all started banding together like a swarm of bees. In his fogged vision it seemed like one dark, growing mass, and inside he knew was his brother. It seemed that they had finished their pillaging and we're preparing to take off. Stan's eyes widened in horror. Then his face hardened. He remebered something from when they were in the city and ran back towards it's tattered remains.

He tripped more than once, but kept going. It was difficult to do as he tried to watch the last stragglers of the invading company pull in with the others. By the time Stan reached where he wanted to be it seemed that the people were starting to calm down. They all poked their heads out of hiding spots and waited. Someone sitting on the ground in a huddle was looking up in anticipation for the theive's departure.

Stan didn't care though. He was silently begging them to stay longer, because he need his time to hijack his own transportation.

Skirting to a halt he saw just what he'd been looking for. A great large ship sitting in the yard of a house, now blown to peices.

He raced past their fence and saw a mass of bodies huddled underneath.

"Sorry folks, but I need this," he called. He waved them away with a hand, and made for the cockpit.

A large man came out from under it and stepped over to him.

"I'ma sorry, but you can't take my ship," he said. "This's all me an' my family have left,"

Stan squinted and made out the shaking mass of a woman and three children. Then he remebered the blown up house.

He shook his head and told himself it didn't matter.

"This is the only spaceship I know about in this whole city. I'm takin' it and thats _that!_ "

The man loomed over him and cracked his fists.

"Well I'a jus' don't think that's feasible mister," and he took an intimidating step forward.

Stan gulped and stepped back. Then he furrowed his brow.

_I HAVE to get in there. Ford NEEDS me. I HAVE to get my brother back._

He closed his eyes and swung.

_LEFT HOOK!_

His fist contacted with the man's jaw, and the towering figure tumbled to the ground. Stan let out a disbelieving chuckle at his own luck.

 _All talk_ , he thought.

But then he turned to the sound of gasps and sharp cries that made its way out of the man's family. Even with his bad eyes he could see the fear and horror on their face as they looked at Stanley. He stared right back.

High above him the ships' hyper drives could be heard activating. Stan shook his head. He couldn't be bothered to worry about this right now. He was too busy trying to get Ford.

He ran to the ships cockpit and hopped inside. All around him were buttons, levers, and flip switches. It suddenly dawned on Stan that he didn't know how to fly a ship.

"Consarn!" He cursed under his breath.

He shook his head. He wasn't going to let that stop him. Quickly he fumbled through the buttons, pressing random things and flicking every other dial. The ship roared to life and Stan let out a triumphant "yes!"

Then the whole thing shuddered and quaked. It moaned and wheezed in exhaustion.

"No, no, no!" He banged the dashboard hard. 

The ship rocked and Stan had to hold on to his seat for balance. Suddenly it jerked out and into the air. Stan almost threw up his lunch, but it managed to settle. He was floating. The whole ship was in the sky, no longer confined to the ground.

"Alriiight. That's what I'm talking about," he smiled wide.

The ship wobbled higher and Stan took hold of the controls. It seemed he was taking off. And just in time too. A loud blast of hyper drives could be heard entering space.

Stan tried looking out his tinted window, but suddenly the sky above him seemed too blurred to distinguish a thing. He hadn't a clue where any of the slave ships were, and fear gripped him as he questioned how he'd follow.

And then he wondered how he'd operate the hyperdrive. He wasn't sure where it was, or even what it was. I fact he began to wonder if the ship even _had_ a hyperdrive.

He took in a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair.

 _Okay Stan_ , he told himself. _Breath. Just breath. You've got this._

A moment passed. He shook his head.

 _No. No_ _I_ _don't_ _._

He clenched his fists..

_Stupid, stupid, stupid! What were_ _you_ _thinking?_

His jaw clenched and beat the dash.

 _That you could_ _just_ _hop into some space ship and expect everything to just work out? You've just put Ford on the line! How'r you suppos'd to save your brother now? Not_ _with_ _your skill. Not with your smarts. Not with any small_ _amount_ _of_ _WIT or_ _TALENT_ _. Heck, the_ _only_ _thing_ _that's_ _kept_ _you alive this long is Ford and ... and ..._

He kicked at something below his feet.

_... and dumb LUCK!_

A voice echoed around him.

"Target locked on. Acceleration activated,"

Gears clicked and the engines whirred. In a moment Stan was sent zooming through space, his gut screaming in protest at the sudden speed. He took in long deep breaths trying to calm down. After a moment he gulped. He waited for something to happen, but It didn't. The ship just kept making its way along.

"Well ... ," his voice echoed in his own ears. Silence rang out around him. "Yeah, uh. I guess I DO have dumbluck on my side,"

He smiled stupidly, bemused at his fortune. He waited for Ford to land with a comeback. A dig about _emphasis_ _on_ _dumb_ , or maybe something smarter. But when it never came Stan's smile slipped.

He let his body relax, breathed in and closed his eyes. Then he clutched the steering rods. 

_Here we go._


	2. Blind ch 2

They'd been running. The tractor beem had been right above them. He'd almost thought they were home free. 

Next thing he new every molecule in his body was being torn to shreds and reassembled somplace else. It was agony, but it only took a moment. Then he was in a small cell, surrounded by a few others. 

He opened his eyes and tried to scramble to is feet. He took in deep breaths, body still reacting from the disintegration process. He couldn't stand. His head hit the ceiling and he moaned in pain. His tired body slank back to the ground. 

The room was dark and cold. It was filled with raging shouts. Voices of people begging, screaming to be let go. 

Ford looked around himself. It was then that he realized he was alone. That Stanley wasn't with him. Fear gripped his chest. 

_Stanley!_

He wanted to yell, to shout out at his captors, to force them to stop this. But his voice caught in his throat. He couldn't speak. His jaw was clenched shut by his fear. 

He didn't know what to do, he couldn't _think_. He leaned against the wall and waited as the panic coursed through him. 

He shook his head violently, trying to shake up his thoughts. But it only made things worse. He closed his eyes tight and did his best to block out the other prisoners voices, but that didn't help either. Instead he found himself taking in shaky breaths as he tried to bring himself back from the edge of his fear.  

He gulped. Ford was teetering precariously. He knew he had to calm down, but he couldn't. The speed with which his anxiety consumed him was alarming. The creeping dread snuck inside his mind and forced into places he desperatley tried to forget.

 _No, no, no,_  he thought to himself. _I - I have to ..._

But he couldn't think. He squeezed his fists open and closed as if trying to 'grasp' reality. He opened his eyes. 

Immediantly he regretted his descision. 

All around him the other prisoners looked at him with wide, glowing eyes. He heart sped up. They smiled at him wickedly, tounges flickering, teeth glinting in the vague lumminescant light. He gulped, but he couldn't stop looking. The  _eyes_. _Watching_ him. _No, no, no, NO!_

The world spun. Suddenly it was nothing but a mass of those eyes, staring into his very soul. They whirled around and around, slowly moving in. He put his hands over his head defensively. He wanted to shout out so badly, but all he could do was whimper as his heart sped up faster and faster. He was going to die. The eyes were going to kill him. The fear, the panic. It was going to be the death of him.  

_You're going to give yourself a heart attack if you don't calm down Sixer._

A voice deep within his psyche broke free. Ford paused incredulously. 

 _Are you hearing me? Calm your blasted brain DOWN, or your heart 's gonna give out._  

It was Stanley. The voice in his head was Stanley. Ford almost cried in relief as the familiar sound echoed across his skull.

But then he saw the eyes. They were still there. Still spinning. Still accusing him. 

 _That's not your brother Stanford._  

The eyes had started to speak. 

 _Why would it be? Why would he be helping you? After everything you've done. You'd think by now you'd recognize the desperate hulucinations of a mad man. A mad man who drove away his brother._  

They laughed in a malicious tone. 

 _Don't fool youself. It's nothing but your pwn pathetic mind._  

Ford shivered. 

 _Don't listen to those idiots! Listen to me. Listen to my voice Stanford. Calm down, or I'll have to come over there and make you!_  

He shook his head. The eyes were right. It was all in his mind. The insanity was slipping in. Again. He held his head in his arms as his mind sunk further into lunacy. 

_No! I - I swear Stanford. Listen to me!_

He couldn't. He couldn't hear anything over the beating of his own heart. Faster and Faster. Badum, badum. He couldn't control it. Couldn't control the memories forcing themsleves to the forefront of his mind. 

 _Get away._  

_GET AWAY FROM ME._

Badum, badum, badum, BADUM! 

The heat of the wood in his hand. The screams. The agonizing length of time it took to regain his trust. Stanley shrinking away from his attackers. Fearful of their fire. 

He was hyperventilating. In and out, he tried to breath, but he couldn't take in enough. The darkness surrounded him. The prisoners cries were a fitting background sonata to the madness taking place inside his brain. He curled in on himself, trying to block everything out. But it was still there. The eyes were still spinning. Faster and faster around him, and they wouldn't stop. 

_Focus Sixer. Come on now. In and out. Calm yourself._

_You're not real,_  he thought towards the Stan voice inside his head. 

 _I don't have to be real! I just have to be keepin' you alive! Now CALM DOWN._  

Ford started to shake. Stan was right. He needed to get calm. He needed to stop freaking out. 

_Exactly. How else do you expect to find me if your dead?_

_If the real Stan even WANTS you to find him._

He couldn't forget the eyes. He couldn't forget their ever looming presense. Even when he wasn't as insane as usual, they were still there. Still creeping around ever corner. Still hiding in the trees and lurking through stranger's faces.

_Maybe if you just let it all end. Then maybe Stanley won't have to worry about dragging your useless excuse for a brother all across the cosmos. You'd be doing him a favor._

_Stanford, I KNOW you know that isn't true._

The shaking grew worse. Did he know that? Did he really? 

 _STANFORD!_  

 _Stop fighting it. Just let yourself go._  

He was torn. All he could do was sit there as the two competing voices echoed across his skull. He closed his eyes and whimpered miserably. He just wanted it to stop. He just wanted everything to stop ripping him apart. 

He needed Stanley. 

He sat in the slave ship helpless as it carried him away to who knew where. The prisoners yells turned to cries of anguish as they recognized the signs of leaving their planet's atmosphere. Bitter, remorseful sobs left their lips, and the room was filled with a loud chorus of depression and anguish. 

Ford sat in his cell, his whole body shaking in protest. He was silent as the insanity continued to claw through him. 


	3. Chapter 3

Stan's head was spinning as he made his way along the corridor. A dull throb formed in his temples. He'd been straining his eyes for far too long and it was costing him.

Standing there, groping along inch by inch, he ground his teeth. It was painful how helpless he looked. What was worse was the the fact that a dozen or more men could be standing just behind him - hands over their mouths, trying to hide their sneers - and he wouldn't know a thing.

But he kept going. He kept creeping along the space station's walls, and making his way towards finding his brother.

He was having a hard time thinking straight. He wasn't sure where he was going, but he headed towards the sound of clanking. Stan figured it was where the ships docked, and thought he'd go from there.

Sometimes he heard someone coming along, and quickly he'd hide as best he could in a doorway - waiting for them to pass.

It was dim, so his eyes were having a hard time making out any shapes other than the walls on either side of him. He was nearly blind again.

_Look at you. Your pathetic. Useless._

Stan stopped.

_Your gonna get yourself killed, and then what?_

A voice was echoing in his head. One that was different from his own usual nagging doubts.

_Maybe Ford's better off without you. Your nothing but a blind bag of dead weight. If it wasn't for you he wouldn't even be here. He'd have made it to those trees easy._

Stan shook his head. He had to concentrate. He had to keep moving.

_If it wasn't for you, Ford wouldn't be trapped in another dimension. Forced to skirt unspeakable dangers with a handicap idiot._

No. He absolutely didn't have time for this. He needed to get his act together. He pushed the voice away and moved forward.

_You look rediculous. Your gonna get_ _found_ _out._

His mind turned sluggish and it took an effort to keep going. Somehow his vision became even more hazy, and he could barely see the hand in front of his face.

_Or maybe you should just leave._

Stan screwed his eyes shut. He knew where that line of thinking was leading him, and he wasn't likin' it. Placing each leg in front of the other grew harder, but it forced him to focus on something other than his own dark thoughts. A slight buzzing sounded in his ears.

Finally, after what seemed like ages, Stan heard the entrance to the hanger door. He looked around to see if anyone was near.

The dim bulbs in the ceiling seemed to glow with a sudden intensity and Stan reeled. He put both hands over his eyes and moaned softly. The throbbing in his head got worse. He was lost in his own darkness, helpless and alone. He didn't know what he was doing anymore. His heart started to beat faster as a trickle of anxiety worked it's way into his system.

_Leave you idiot. Cut your losses and_ _get_ _out of here._

Stan banged his fist against the wall, seething in frustration. He breathed in and out through his nose. It almost felt like his lungs were working double time. Taking a moment he listened for something - anything - that might give him a foothold on his surroundings.

But the buzz was getting louder. It felt like a chainsaw in a sprint towards him. He breathed in some more, trying to clear his head. It didn't help.

Giving up, Stan decide to make a run for it.

He stood at the end of a hallway, hoping he wouldn't crash straight into a slave trader. He counted in his head.

 _One_ ,

His muscles tensed.

_Two,_

He breathed in and out deeply, preparing to run, then paused.

_... what comes after two?_

It worried him that he didn't know, but he decided not to dwell on it and ran forward anyways. He made his way for the wall opposite, arms slightly stretched out, hoping to feel a door or something.

Immediantly he smacked straight into the figure of another man. The two of them were sent sprawling.

Stan's head spun and he started to see stars. He was woozy, but it felt stronger than usual. He heard the man groan and go to stand. Quickly Stan tried to get up, but a star took out a hammer and thwacked him with it. He crumpled back to the ground.

He sat there for a moment, dazed. He felt worse and worse by the minute. And when he heard a weapon spark to life ominously, it didn't make him feel any better.

Stan put his hands above his head in a defensive position. He cast his mind about for some way to escape the situation, but his brain was still slow. He was starting to get irritated with himself.

_Useless. Pathetic. Good for nothing ..._

"Stanley?"

Stan's ears perked up. He recognized the man's voice.

"Ford?" Stan opened his eyes wide. It was true. The dull image in front of him was his brother. "Ford!" Stan lept to his feet, arms out, smiling wide.

Suddenly he found himself back on the ground - his jaw ached.

Ford had clocked him.

He groaned. He didn't know what was going on.

"Ug, Stanley what on earth are you doing here? Did you mess with my portal? I hope you didn't do anything stupid. You could of just caused the end of the world!"

"What are you talking about?" Stan rubbed his jaw. "How did you get out of the slave trader's grip?"

"What do you mean? - Never mind. That's not important. What important is you jerk - !"

Stan heard him point the gun back in his direction.

"Got me stranded here because you couldn't do one _simple thing_! And now you've got yourself stuck here as well? Figures. You just have to ruin everything I try and do,"

Stan furrowed his brow. He didn't know what was going on.

_He hates you. You can hear it in his voice_ _can't_ _you?_ _It's_ _about_ _time_ _he recognized you for what you really are. A wretched, no-good, useless ..._

Stan's heart beat faster. He was afraid it would give out if he didn't get it to slow down soon. His breathing grew more difficult as he strained his brain to think.

He didn't want to go there, but he had to ask.

"Sixer is your brain scrambled? What are you going on about?"

He heard Ford scowl.

"Don't call me that! And for your information - I've probably got more sense than you do right now. Honestly Stanley.  
What were you thinking? Walking in here without a respirator. Of all the hair brained moves,"

"Respirator?" He was so confused. But the buzzing in his mind was growing louder. It started blocking out Ford's words so that he seemed far away.

"Yes, Stanley. A respirator. Dont you know the stuff these things breath is toxic? You can't tell me you haven't noticed,"

"I ... ," he put a hand to his head. "Um ... ,"

He heard Ford sigh in exasperation.

"Lucky for you I have an extra. But I'm half inclined to just leave you here, and let your mind disintegrate the rest of the way. Not that there was much there before,"

Something hit Stan's shoulder and he scrambled to catch it. Feeling around he recognized the small design of some sort of metal.

"There. That's all I'm doing for you. Now if you'll excuse me, I've my own business elsewhere,"

Stan started to panic.

"Ford wait! You can't go!" He scrambled to put the do-dad over his mouth. Immediantly his lungs were filled with a fresh blast of cool oxygen. Stan closed his eyes in relief. He hadn't noticed it yet, but his whole body was starting to break down with the the lack of air he was getting.

His brain was already at work too, trying to process his situation. It worked much faster, and the voice in his head was already dying away. The buzzing stopped and his headache lessened. A few seconds and a couple deep breaths gave way to the abrupt change in how he felt from no more than a minute ago.

"Sixer, hold up," he stood to his feet.

"I told you. Don't call me that,"

Stan was taken aback by the growl in his brother's voice. Something was wrong. It didn't make sense. Why was he acting like this?

"Are ... you mad about something I did?" Stan gulped. Maybe Ford's really had realized he didn't need Stan holding him back.

"Mad? Mad doesn't even begin to describe it! The sheer amount of synonyms I could come up with. Livid. Spiteful. Hateful. Angry. Frenetic - !"

Stan's hands were shaking.

"Wh - what did I do?" Hearing his brothers words was like a punch to the gut. Each new sentence brought a new layer of hurt that he didn't even know he could feel.

"What did you do? You idiot! If you had just listened to me, then we wouldn't have landed ourselves here in the portal. You should have just taken my journal and left!"

It was like his worst nightmare come true. All of his fears - brought to life in perfect clarity. He didn't know what to say. He knew Ford was right. He'd always known he was to blame. He'd just been waiting for Ford to figure that out too.

"So are you just going to leave me here then?" He stepped forward. He willed Ford to say no. To come to his senses and say 'of course not'. To suddenly laugh and tell him he was just playing some cruel joke.

"It'd be good ridance,"

Stan could hear the condescending layer of spite in Stanford's voice. It left no doubt. This was no joke. Ford was dead serious.

Stan's fist tightened. His brother's words cut him to his very core. Hurt welled inside him. His brain was still in recovery, and now he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"After everything ... your just gonna walk away?"

"I hope you haven't spent all these years just trying to find me. If you have then it's been a waste of your time,"

"Years? What! Standford what about everything we've just been through since falling through the portal together?"

"Together? Don't fool yourself. We didn't fall in together. You shoved me in. And now you've gone and hopped in behind me,"

"No I didn't! We came in together!" Stanley stopped. Something was wrong.

"Last week, you told me - ,"

"Last week? How long has it been for you since I fell through? Only a week?"

"What? No of course not. I meant last week when we were hiking over that mountain pass," Stan squinted his eyes and looked at Stanford concerned. "You do remember don't you?"

"Last week I was on another planet in the middle of a worldwide revolution ... ," His brother grew silent. He could feel Fords eyes bore into him. "You don't think - ," Ford trailed off.

Stan was getting worried. He was starting to think his brother might have cracked again. But then his heart soared with wretched hope. Maybe he _didn't_ hate him. Maybe it was all a mistake. If Ford was having another laps, Stan could handle it. Right then he'd take _anything_ over his brother leaving him.

"Ford, are you feeling all right - ,"

"Quiet Stanley! I need to think ... ,"

Stan shut his mouth. He didn't want to stay silent, but he didn't want Ford to leave either. Reluctantly he waited as Stanford started mumbling things under his breath. Stan was really starting to worry, but he wasn't sure if he reached out a hand that Ford wouldn't pull away.

He suddenly realized how alone he felt. It was jarring. He was used to his brother by his side, not huddled away on the other side of the room. He was used to his help in guiding him. Without him he was blind.

And it wasn't even the physical kind either. Mentally he felt incomplete. Alone he was nothing more than a bunch of bones. With his brother he felt alive. He need Ford to make his mind light up, and to feel as if he could go on to conquer the universe. Alone he didn't know what to think as he scrambled around on his own trying to accomplish things in his own mindless way. Alone his brain couldn't see things the same - just as much as his eyes couldn't.

He looked over and made out Stanford pulling some sort of notebook out of his jacket. That's when he realized his outfit had changed. He squinted trying to be sure, but something was definitely off.

"Yes of course!" Finally Stan heard Ford speak up. "An alternate universe. That must be it!"

Stan furrowed his brow.

"What?"

"Stanley, you said we fell in the portal at the same time?"

"Of course,"

"The same day even?"

Stan was getting annoyed, but he tried to stay calm.

"The same minute poindexter. But what's all this about?"

"Don't you see? We aren't from the same universe. In my universe you never came through the portal yet. It must be an alternate universe. Either that or shape shifters, but I'm pretty sure I solved that mess over a month ago,"

Stan tried to think. An alternate universe? Was Ford talking nonsense, or was it really true?

If it was then that meant that the man in front of him wasn't the real Ford. Or maybe he was, but he wasn't his Ford. Which meant ...

"So that would mean my Ford's still around here somewhere?"

"Well yes. That's more than likely, but think of the ramifications of this knowledge!"

Stan pursed his lips. His brother was still missing, he was still blind, and he just remembered what Ford - not Ford? - said about the air in the spaceship.

"Sixer, I don't know. Do you think - ,"

Ford growled.

"Look. I get it now alright? You think I'm your brother. But for heavens sake, stop calling me that!"

Stan stepped back, hurt. They were silent for a while.

It was in that moment that Stan decided Ford was telling the truth. Because even if he was wrong, Stan didn't want a universe where Ford hated him. He chose to believe instead. For now at least he'd choose to trust in the idea that his brother was still out there. That his brother still needed him. Because that's what _Stanley_ desperately needed.

Ford interupted the quiet.

"Wait what am I even still doing here? I have things to do. Goodbye Stanley counterpart,"

"No wait!" Stanley reached out and waved his hand around trying to find Stanford's shoulder.

"What are you doing?" He heard Ford say.

Stan reached him and tried to look in his eyes - so long as he could find them.

"You have to help me. You have to help to find _my_ Ford. He's here somewhere, and I need to find him,"

"I don't think so. I've already had enough trouble with my own Stan. I don't need another one messing things up - ,"

"Please! He's here somewhere, I don't know if he's hurt, or okay, or what. I - ," thoughts of Ford ran through his mind and he shivered at the possibilities. "I _have_ to find him. _Please_ ,"

Stan stood there listening to Ford's silence. He needed his help. His Ford or no - Stan was painfully aware of how inadequate he was at completing such a daunting task. He needed help.

Finally after a long stretch without either of them speaking, Ford sighed.

"Yes, alright, fine,"

Stan let himself smile.

Ford shrugged off Stan's hand and turned around.

"I just know I'm going to regret this later," he mumbled.

Stan heard his footsteps travel down the hallway.

"Lucky for you I was already on my way to the control room,"

Stan followed the sound of his voice as he headed after him. For one second he'd hesitated, waiting for Ford to grab his arm. It tore at him when he didn't.

But Stan breathed in, pushing the torture out of his mind. He'd find his Ford and then everything'd be okay. He had to. Or else he didn't know what he'd do.

"I suppose after I finish what I came for, that I can help you look around ... ,"


	4. Chapter 4

Stan was getting all twisted. He'd had no idea that the seemingly small space station could have so many turns in its corridors.

Stanford was some ways in front of him, Stanley trailing his hand along the wall to follow behind. Ford was mumbling things under his breath to himself, and Stan kept his ears perked, almost closing his eyes trying to keep up. A few times he'd have to stop, unsure of where he was going, till he realized they'd reached a turn. Stanford would call out, "Are you coming?" and Stan would turn towards his voice.

A while in and Stan had already lost track of where Ford went. He tried listening, but was surprised to find he'd lost him in the silence. His eyes went wide as he looked around trying to find some semblance of a dull outline. But the light wasn't ideal, and he still couldn't see well. He walked forward, ears straining for Ford's voice.

It wasn't until he felt a hand on his shoulder that he realized Ford was right infront of him.

He stepped back surprised.

"Oh, there you are," Stan blinked confused. "You stopped. Is it here?"

Ford didn't say a word. Stan grew uneasy, tapping his foot in the silence. After a moment, Ford spoke.

"Can you ... see?"

Understanding dawned on Stan, and his ears turned red.

"Of course I can," he snapped. It was odd. Thinking Ford didn't know. He had to remebered that the man in front of him wasn't his brother. _His_ Ford was still in here somewhere. He still had to find him.

He put a hand to the back of his neck in embarressment.

"I can - just ... not well,"

"Oh, wow. What happened?" Ford leaned in and Stan could feel the inquisitive look bore into him.

He squirmed under the gaze. It felt so strange to feel so uncomfortable with his brother so near. He hadn't felt like that in a long while, but he shoved out a hand and pushed Ford away.

"It doesn't matter," he took a step back, looking at the ground. "It's in the past, so no one cares now,"

"Well I do. I'm curious," Ford stepped back a little. "I wonder how the different time lines have affected the way we've interacted with our surroundings. Hmm, maybe our paths have collided because of some shared experiance, or perhaps even something opposite or completely different because of our origin of existance. What did you run into? Was it an accident? Or was it some kind of monster?"

Harsh indignation grew in Stan's chest, but Ford went on.

"Do you think multiple versions of this character exist? I wonder how this affects string theory. Or maybe it doesn't just coincide, but _duplicates_ existence and allows for deviations! So many possiblities! You have to tell me everything. Or maybe if you do we'd implode? Was it a terrible large monster? Or was it humanoid? I do question the levels of monstrosity a certain dimension is capable of creating,"

"Monster?" He seethed. "How could you say something like that? Of _course_ it wasn't! How could you even _think_ something like that?"

Ford huffed.

"Well its a viable hypothesis," he grumbled. "If you have another more accurate description for what inhibits sight, then I'm all hears. Though I doubt it," Ford's voice was annoyed and laced with bitter steel.

It was like suddenly being submerged in ice water. He had to remember this wasn't Ford. That this wasn't his brother.

But it felt like it. His voice was so similiar. His presence the same. He couldn't stand to hear those words come out of that mouth - not realizing the truth behind what they really meant.

And then the memories came.

He felt so uncomfortable standing there. It was too much like before. It was all he could do to not back away in fear. His hands shook and his heart beat faster.

He closed his eyes and took a moment to gather himself. He breathed in deeply. He didn't want this. He didn't like how vulnerable he felt. He could feel Ford starring at him. He wished so desperatley his brother would stop standing there so much larger than life. His intimidating presence unhinged him.

He was used to Ford being his anchor. His harbor of safety. But now it almost felt like that time before they were even in the portal. At odds and angry enemies.

Despite the outer civilty, he could feel the underlying wave of reproach rolling off of Ford, and it was beggining to make him feel just as open to the hate that had festered in him for so many years. He was brought back to times living on the road, moving from state to state. At times unsure of where he'd get his next meal.

In many ways it was like the life he lived now, but with a few key differences. Because now he had Ford. Now he had the companionship of his brother to give support, comfort, and guidance. He had someone to share his experiances. Someone to talk to, to laugh with. Someone to count on when things got hard.

But Ford was gone - missing. And he was left with this other Ford. Someone who he didn't feel comfortable with. Someone who brought back old feelings of pain that he'd long thought forgotten.

It was almost like before. But it wasn't. Because before he let his anger to fuel him. Before he'd been stubborn, independent and strong. Before he'd been able to make it on his own - even if barely. Before he wasn't blind. Weak. Helpess.

Now he coward to danger, and it killed him inside. Now he spun at every sound, jumped at every touch. Now he couldn't hate Ford, because that would get him killed. Now all he could do was wander around, waiting for the next attack.

Ford's feelings of defensiveness and anger made Stan uneasy, and it was only heightened with the thought that he couldn't defend himself.

Before he would have stood up straight - daring the imposter Ford to make a move. Now he backed away - hateful of himself, and hateful of the man who couldn't be his brother, for making him feel that way.

In his silence Ford finally spoke.

"Are you okay?" He asked in a tentive voice.

Stan shook his head.

"I'm fine," He growled. "Just - less talking more walking. We have to find my Ford," Stan pushed past him and started moving forward.

"Wait, I've more questions - ,"

"No!"

He surprised himself with the the intensity of his yell. He sighed then backtracked.

"Look. I ... I don't want to talk about it. Alright?"

Ford narrowed his eyes, then finally sighed.

"Fine ... I supose. I understand if - if your uncomfortable. But if you want to keep going ... ,"

Stan tilted his head.

"What?"

"Well its not that way," 

Stan gritted his teeth and turned.

Ford chuckled to himself. Stan glared as best he could and Ford was silent.

They kept walking.

As they went he could tell Ford was looking at him, but Stan ignored it. At least Ford was giving him a little better of a clue which way he was heading as they moved. Yet everytime Stan felt a small touch on his elbow he wasn't sure what he wanted more. To jump to his brothers side and never leave, or to shrink back and run away.

The silence between them gained an almost audible volume. Stan liked it better when Ford had been amusing himself with random observations and thoughts, but it looked like he was keeping them to himself now.

He wasn't breathing in toxic air anymore, but his inner thoughts still pushed their way forward. He tried to reel them in, but for the most part his mind wandered.

He wasn't sure where they were headed, but it was taking a while. Stan was starting to think he'd led himself to the opposite end of the station before he'd stumbled on Ford. And now they roamed the corridors around the building floating in space.

He wondered about things as they walked. Wondered about what kind of creatures breathed in toxic air. Wondered what kind of establishment sold people.

Wondered if it was good money.

Wondered where the security was. Wondered where the 'slaves' were. Wondered if he was missing more than he realized as they walked along the dull grey halls, making their way to the control center that was supposed to be somewhere ahead.

He wondered about the Ford in front of him. Wondered about where he came from. Wondered why that Ford's Stan wouldn't have jumped in after his brother when he saw him falling away into a nightmare beyond. Wondered if Ford even was from an alternate dimension, or if his brother had merely turned into the darkest version of his most twisted nightmares ...

He stopped. He'd heard a strange sound.

Ford halted with him.

"Are ... you okay?"

"Quiet," he breathed.

Ford's footsteps echoed in the hall as he walked towards him. Stan warned him away with his hand.

"Stop!" he whispered. "Not another step,"

"What ... did I do?"

"Shhhh!"

They stood there, Stan's ears straining to hear. Ford was silent but Stan could tell he was impatient to go.

He felt the hairs on his neck rise. With cold aprehension he looked Ford's way. Gesturing towards the ceiling, he pointed up.

Ford inhaled sharply.

Stan instinctively looked too, but all he saw was the glow of the lights.

"What is it?" He whispered. "What do you see?"

It wasn't the first time Stan had sensed something without his eyes, but it still made him uneasy when he knew something was there and he couldn't tell what.

"We ... should keep walking,"

At he sound of Ford's whisper, the presence grew more intense. He felt Ford grab his arm and drag him away.

"What is it?" He hissed.

But Ford wasn't responding. They kept walking, and Stan could feel his brother's unease grow.

"What on earth? They're everywhere," he mumbled.

Stan wanted to ask what, but everytime they spoke, the prickling sensation on his neck grew stronger.

It was a long time before Ford loosened his grip and let go - effectually tossing it out of his hand -  but it was around that same time that his whole body shivered in expectant fear.

"What _was_ that?" He asked, still keeping his voice low.

"Um," Ford was still walking on, and now Stan had to pay attention to where he was going again. "Well it looked like the alarm. But it wasn't sounding. I don't understand why not,"

"What?"

"There were - the things. I think that's what it was. Tiny ones perhaps? Maybe even - specifically gene altered children bred for that sole purpose. Or maybe they're all just born like that. I suppose I had presumed that because of their conception process that they didn't grow, but I may very well have been wrong,"

"What?"

"All over the ceiling. Hiding behind the lights. I don't think I'd ever have noticed had you not pointed them out. They're hundreds of them. Thousands. Just sitting there. I ... they weren't attacking. They were awake, they knew we were there, but they didn't do anything. I don't know why - ," he stopped. "Unless it's a trap? I don't know. I wish I understood how these things worked, but I'm still learning the rudimentary basics of all these new systems and their applications. It's some fascinating stuff actually, but if it get us killed than that'll be disappointing,"

"No kidding,"

"Yes. But if I could simply isolate the main thought behind their actions then perhaps ... ," Ford started to mull it over.

Stan sighed.

"How much farther to the control center? If we get there than we have command of this whole thing right?"

"Well, essentially, but I'm still concerned about security,"

"What is it? A Lazer system? Coded panel? Maybe an alien we could punch?"

"I wouldn't think so. Nothing so crude would likely be used on such a high class raider ship. Elsewise I'll be highly dissapointed in the integrity of this whole scheming operation,"

"Dissapointed? So what! If it means we get this over with _faster,_ "

"Now calm down. You see my main concern is that the control room should be here to your right,"

Stan took Ford's word for it, not bothering to feel for the door. He was relived they'd finally found it.

"Fantastic, now let's go and - ,"

"Not yet,"

"Well why not?"

"Because there isn't anything blocking it,"

"So?"

"Not a guard, not a control panel. Not any of those creatures stuck on the ceiling a while back," Ford paused. "Honestly it even looks like they might be _avoiding_ the door. Not guarding it,"

Stan sighed impatiently. But he had to admit that Ford was probably right. It _was_ rather suspicious. He wondered if he would have thought of that if he'd been on his own. He wondered what he would have done had he not been handicap. Would he have run in, unprepared, and ready to meet certain death? Or would he have been able to see the creatures, notice the lack of obstacles, and come to a conclusion?

"We should take this carefully. Maybe if I ... ,"

Stan clenched his fist.

What he would do. If. If he wasn't blind. If he wasn't in the portal. If his brother had never called him that night all that while ago. If he'd never been born.

He was tired of it. Tired of the doubts. Tired of the worries. Tired of walking around without his brother like a chicken with his head cut off.

"Forget it," he barged past Ford and head towards the door.

"Wait what are you - ?"

Stan found the entrance with his hands and pushed.

"Stanley no!"

The two doors flung open smoothy. They felt oddly garnished for a dull, steel covered space bucket of scraps. The inside air wafted out with a flourish. It smelt like lavender, but Stan could tell the toxin was in every spec of the room. Despite the referbirator, his head became a little woozy, and he had to take a moment to reorientated himself.

Looking in, he was surprised to see a large green mass - it could just as well been brown; he couldn't tell - that was shivering violently. It didn't seem too dangerous, but at the sound of his entrance he could hear it skwirm, and some sort of slapping sound echoing against a slimy skin.

"What am I looking at?" He whispered, question directed towards Ford. But a minute passed and he still didn't hear an answer.

The thing started to screech and then long tendrils of something waved out of the main body. They wiggled up and down, their movements somehow entrancing.

Stan grimaced. He didn't need to see to tell that the abomination in front of him was one of the nastier things he'd ever come across.

"Ford. Hey, do you have any idea what this thing is?"

Ford wasn't responding and Stan wondered if he was upset. But when he couldn't hear any tell tale signs of movement behind him, he started to wonder if Ford was even still there.

"Ford? Hey Earth ... to ... Ford,"

His tongue was heavy. He struggled to turn his head and look over his shoulder. His eyes were dark and annoying blotches appeared in his vision. He didn't know what was going on, but somewhere far away he started to hear a soft coo. It made him sleepy.

Stan growled at himself. Something was wrong. He didn't like how at ease he felt. He should've been more anxious. More worried. More conscious of his surroundings. Instead all he wanted to do was close his eyes and forget he existed.

He went to find Ford, but had trouble turning. His head was fixed in place, starring at the thing in front of him. He couldn't look away. Some hypnosis feeling of indifference built up inside him and it was all he could do to remember where he was. Or even who he was.

He clenched his fist tightly, digging his nails into the palm of his hand. It anchored him in reality. Quickly he turned and broke free of whatever held him.

Then spinning around, he ran straight into Ford. He fell to the ground, but his brother was still standing there - frozen.

"Ford - ?"

He heard an angry shriek from the thing behind him. He jumped to his feet in alarm. He waited for it to attack, but instead he heard a small pop and the release of pressured gas.

All around him thin shapes slank out of the corners and converged. Sharp clicks and raspy chatters sounded as the creatures moved in.

Stan's eyes grew wide in fear as he whipped his head around trying to keep track of the four figures that stepped closer. One let out a snake like rattle and another hissed. Suddenly he was flung back and thrown against the wall.

His lungs gasped for air as the wind knocked out of him. He fell to his knees and rasping for breath. A hand found its way to his shirt and he was lifted high by a cold four fingers. His feet brushed the ground. An image was right infront of his eyes and at that distance he could see the beginnings of the wrinkled, faceless mask of dark green slim and skin. It sent a shiver down his spine. Then a small crossed slit slowly split open and a wide cavern of menacing teeth was displayed. A large banshee like scream echoed in his ears and his eardrums nearly cracked. It blew past his face in a whirl, the sound echoing all around him

He almost would have passed out if it wasn't for the hot pain of a knife that dug it's way into the flesh of his shoulder. Immediantly his hand jerked up and the blade went flying before the creature could sink it in any further.

Another scream howled. His head swam as his ears rang violently.

He put a foot to the thing's chest and kicked. It fell away, and he landed on the ground disoriented, blind, and effectually deff. He was seemingly in a void. It wasn't until another creature grabbed his arm and pulled him to the floor that he snapped out of his stupor.

His shoulder hit down hard and he bit back a yell. He latched onto the creature - cold flesh slipping under his fingers as he tried to keep hold. He swipped his foot out and knocked the thing from under its own two feet.

He got up, waiting for some sign of where the things were around him. His heart sped as he sensed them slowly advance. An arm grabbed his and Stan spun, lashing out with a clenched fist. He'd aimed straight for their jaw, but felt his hand hit a collarbone like area instead. It was enough, because the grip released. Then immediantly replaced by a sharp knee to his gut.

Stan fell down, clutching his stomach. The back of his shirt lifted and Stan flew across the room. It was all he could do not to pass out, but he fought back the stars and hobbled to his feet.

He was shaky and unstable, but something to his right made him jab out an elbow. He felt a satisfactory crunch as it hit a tender rib in the sallow surface of the creature's skin. He heard a quiet scream as if coming from far away. He smiled ruefully and followed with a kick to the knee. He missed again, but still hit home and cracked a leg.

Their frail bodies had almost no fat, and was mostly bone covered in slight muscle, layered in thin skin. It was almost too easy to feel the give under his foot.

Then he stepped aside, still clutching his gut and a dull throb working its way through his back.

A slight shift in the air made him step to the right. His already hurt shoulder exploded in pain as he just nearly missed a knock out punch. Still it was all he could do to stay awake as he clamored to his feet, ignoring the searing hot ball of tension building on his left side.

A hand grabbed the front of his shirt again, but Stan reared his head and banged it against the thing's skull. He felt the sickly indent of the cranium. Immediantly he dropped and rolled to the side as a heavy body thumped beside him.

Three hands all grabbed him and shook. His head had a hard time keeping awake as his neck got whiplash with each tug. Three angry screeches pierced his brittle ears, as three pairs of claws dug into his skin.

He scrambled for a hold. He tried to lash out, but they kept tight - shaking him, trying to scramble his brains. His mind started to slip. His eyes grew heavy and he was tempted to let himself fall into unconciousness.

And then his fingers brushed up against a handle clamped to one of their belts.

With renewed vigour he grabbed hold and tore the knife upwards. One of them let go as a cool liquid spilled onto his hands. His eyes fluttered as he struggled to stay awake. He gripped the knife as if his life depended on it, letting the hilt bite into his skin.

One tore him out of the grasp of the other. The receding claws ripped into his arm leaving a streak of pain. Stan took the knife in his right, and twisted his wrist to scratch the he creature that still held him in its tight constraint.

He felt a something behind him and whirled around, raising his arms in defense. He barely steped back before - too late - a knife plunged down. The blade left a deep graze on his forearm that shocked his hurt shoulder, overwhelming him. Already tired, Stan stepped away from the pain and focused on bringing his knee to the thing's head before it straightened. The bone only gave way a tad, so he smashed the base of the knife down with both hands.

More screams made its way to his foggy head.

He stumbled back, breathing in. His ears rang, his body hurt, and he wishing for nothing more than to drop to the ground and sleep.

In a sliver of a second, an almost rib cracking amount of pressure built up in his chest, before he went flying.

He landed in the cesspool of the first creature's body. It's large mass layered in wretched filth as its rolls cascaded over each other. It was like a water bed of grime, and if he hadn't been so tired, he'd have tossed up whatever food was still in his system.

He struggled to get up, but the thing's tendrals stretched around him. He could see the eyes hiding away at the end of each rope, angrily blinking in his face. They squeezed him tight and he gasped. Nonsensical chattering echoed across his skull, and he got the impression the creatures were mocking him.

Red filled his vision, and his lungs felt like they were going to explode. His brain was on fire, and his understanding of reality slipped. All he could register was that he was dying.

Using his last reserves of energy, he took the knife he'd somehow held onto, and sliced away at his vices. He was doused in some kind of liquid, but he kept sawing through. The grip lessened, and he was able to gasp in air.

His mind spun, but he kept hacking away. Without thinking he sliced, jabbed, and swung. Delicate skin gave way under his sharp touch, but he kept going. His brain was so gone he didn't even know why he did what he did, but a desperate energy filled his body and he jammed the knife deeper into the creature. Again, and again, and again he bore his way across, uncaring of the shrill screams that built their way into his mind.

The agonizing howls bounced across his head, swimming around and flailing. The noise entered his very bones, and the vibrations shook him to his core. His nose started to bleed, and he was vaguely aware of being dragged away by sharp claws from the dying pile of mucus.

He finally gave up trying to fight, his body aching. Every last drop of energy he had was spent, and he could barely move. Closing his eyes he went limp, falling to the ground in defeat. The screeching sounds of the creatures were the last thing he remembered before falling victim to unconciousness.


	5. Chapter 5

"Maybe if I can figure out how the radius of the distance those other creatures are staying back, then I might be able to gain valuable intelligence on what exactly we're dealing with. Unless of course there isn't any corrilation.  But I'm sure if we simply gather more information then we can avoid any troublesome business by merely being smart about this. I - ,"

"Forget it," Stanley barged past him and reached out for the door.

Ford watched him touch the wall and slowly move till his fingers brushed the golden engravings adorning the suface.

"Wait what are you - ?"

Stan pushed.

"Stanley no!"

Ford held out a hand in warning, but the doors already flew open. He couldn't help note the swing of classic architeque over the prefered slide of future spacey entrances.

Stan walked inside determined. Ford looked - curious, but with caution.

Immediantly his eyes latched onto the large disfigured form a sentient block of slime. Ford was fascinated. It seemed to fill the room.

At their entrance it wiggled like a mound of jellow. It's movements were smooth and hypnotic. Ford looked in awe as theories and hypothesis flew through his head.

It might have been the breeder for whatever species lay on the ceiling behind them. Maybe it was a queen and was holding a new batch of children right then. Or maybe it didn't give birth but every hundred years.

He stopped moving, lost in thought, vaguely aware of the curiously eyed limbs stretching out from the creature's body.

It could possibly be royal. But maybe not a queen. Maybe it was the brains. Maybe it stole the species, or maybe concocted them in a lab. It was selling people. Maybe the slaves would be turned into DNA materials and then sold as the perfect servants to the highest bidder.

He heard his name, but he was too lost to care. He began to picture his thoughts in his mind. They formed around him like doors as he stood in a room - a chalk board covered in equations and theorems sitting in front of him.

The voice came again, questioning him and calling his name. His world shook. He tetered then rightened himself. His face screwed up in disdain.

Stanley was out there. Talking to him, asking him questions. He swiveled, focusing on his work. He wanted nothing to do with the alternate version of his brother.

It was too much like the real Stanley. The memory of that night too fresh. It seemed like lightyears ago, but he couldn't get it out of his mind. And just when he'd thought that maybe he could forget, he ran into this other Stanley. The sizzled and burnt sound of his flesh ringing in his ears. The image of his angry face clear as day. But after everything, the most he could hope for was for Stanley to have enough sense to keep that portal _closed_.

He sighed, the chalk in his hand slipping down the board.

If only he could forget Stanley. Then maybe the universe could continue and everything could finally be okay.  Maybe he could move on. Maybe Stan could live his life - safe back on earth.

But in the meantime all Ford could do was wander aimlessly across the nightmare realm. Speaking of which, he looked up and suddenly wondered where he was. Just a moment ago he'd been standing in the space station. But now he looked to be in some sort of college classroom. He dropped his chalk, stepping back. 

"What on earth?"

A loud angry screech echoed all around him. The walls contracted, expanded, then tightened. He grew stuffy in the tight space and loosened the tie around his neck. Looking down he questioned when his outfit had changed. Then, eyes widening, his hands scrambled up and down his coat. Annoyance flowed through him as he realized he didn't have his notebook on him. 

"I swear. That's the fifth one this year," 

He was starting to think he needed to make a place for them in his coat or something. 

But then ... he wasn't wearing his coat. 

"Where am I?"

He looked at one of the doors next to him. He took two strides and then twisted its knob. It was locked. He tried another, but he couldn't get at whatever was inside. Confused, he tried all the doors. Finally he reached a plain oak. It looked rather old, but pushing the door open, he was happy to be given access. On the other side he saw a figure, hunched over and scribbling in a book. He went to step in, but was met with a rippling effect that made him step back. It was a curious thing. Very reminescent of the time when ...

At that thought, one of the doors behind him started to bang in on itself. This one was covered in heavy chains, but seemed rather worn. As Ford looked, a shadow creeped out from under it. Slowly the shape appeared. It was a triangle.

Ford jumped back, falling to the ground. A familiar voice laughed. Then a single eye opened. 

He was speachless. He sucked in air trying to keep himself calm. His lids squeezed shut. 

Everything stopped. Confused he opened an eye. There was nothing but black darkness. He swiveled. Nothing. Nothing everywhere. 

A rattle hissed behind him. A cold wet tentacle wrapped itself up his leg. He shivered, looking down. It worked its way up, up, up, his body in quick, flashing stages. He ley out a cloud of breath then the tentacle tightened.

His body restricted, and he plunged down into an abyss. It happened in a moment. He struggled to be realesed, but it had him. Existence grew blurry in his efforts to break free. He closed his eyes, arms thrashing against his bonds. When he opened them again he was underwater. He gasped, bubbles escaping, but he could breath. The tentacles were still wrapped around him. He could see many of the same doors positioned in the floor of sand. Red siren lights were silently flashing above the frames, giving the dark water an errie red glow.

Ford looked and finally saw what was holding him. A Cracken lay on the sea floor. It seemed to be moving closer, until he realized it was just getting larger. It was the slime ball from before. He wasn't sure how he knew, but he could tell it was the same one from the space station. This must have been what the thing originally was before time corrupted the evolution of its species - leading to the pathetic blob he'd seen at the outset.

The Cracken roared, it's body gaining in size as its tentacles wove their way around the doors. Ford managed to free his arms, but then the Cracken's grip tightened and he gasped for air - more bubbles escaped. The thing focused on the many frames below him, and Ford did too. It wasn't until the Cracken started turning the knobs with its many suctioned legs that Ford realized what was going on.

He saw the countless days of his life in the past and realized he was in his mindscape.

The Cracken roared again.

He struggled in horror as the the tendrals shoved their way across his brain. The frames shook and cracked as the growing masses forced their way further in. Memories splintered and the ocean filled with a sea of intermingled thoughts. His head burned with the pressure assaulting his mind.

He did his best to fight back. He tried mentally slamming the doors shut, even succeeding in pushing the Cracken off a few. But he was too weak. The Cracken made its way further and further along - bulldozing everything in its path.

Ford was beggining to lose his comprehension of the world. The psychic attack was ripping his sense of self to shreds. His mind mixed with the creature's and he started seeing thoughts that didn't belong to him. Memories that weren't his, and impressions he'd never felt.

Waves of condescension overtook him. The misplaced pride and unbridled hate leaked into his mind like an infectious disease. The creature was a pot of the most putrid parts of a being. It's mind the result of living over a hundred years in the most self serving, disgusting, and hateful way.

All that Ford was, was being overtaken, and he couldn't stop it. He was dying. He was ceasing to exist at the most fundamental level. His mind was being erased. Absorbed by the creature. His knowledge stored away to be added to a shelf like a collection of books no one would ever read. If he'd been more aware, he'd have described it as agonizing. But instead he drifted, floating away to existential oblivion.

***

Then his world shook. He looked around and saw the structure of his mind collapse. But was it even his mind anymore? A piercing scream shattered the surrounding remains. His thoughts fell to the ground like a lump of clay. The mass of tentacles slowly receded, then disappeared as dust.

The ocean rumbled and faded as the sea swirled. The water drained and the Cracken - still screaming - realesed him as it thrashed in a mad frenzy. He floated down to the ground and dropped to his knees. There was a dull pain everywhere. He sat there for a moment, exhausted.

His vision was blurry, but slowly he readjusted. The sand turned into steel, and the ocean gave way to walls as he found himself in the spaceship once again. His mind was still lost though. He didn't know who he was. Why he was. But then he saw Stanley in the grip of two royal class guards.

Putting a hand to his head he realized they'd kill him. He remembered ordering them to do so. He stood, wobbling to his feet, and took out his blaster. Aiming, he shot them both dead.

The two had done praiseworthy work these past few years, but as he noticed the others on the ground he felt nothing but reproach. The highly asteemed group had let a blind man kill two of their own. It was disgraceful - and oh ... Those weren't his memories were they?

He shook it off. His head still felt hollow. The Cracken's invasion on his psyche disturbed him. It's free reign over his mind. The way he'd been singled out and attacked so easily. It was frightening. He really needed to come up with some sort of preventitive measure against things like that. Even now he couldn't discern why he was still intact to any degree mentally.

And then he saw the blood.

Though it was more slime by regular terms. But with the Cracken's memory placed firmly next to his, he could easily see how the blobbed body might be more of a horific masacre. Thankfully the creature lacked any normal feelings of discomfort towards death. It's uncaring attitude left Ford with plenty of room to fill in empathy and moral values where the Cracken had none.

Yet he still looked with unrestrained contempt at the once great organism, now so pitifully dead. And somewhere inside he sneered at the ridiculousness that a blind Stan had been able to do that.

He tried to keep himself from identifying with the creature's thoughts, but found he couldn't help himself. The sudden capture and release of his mind left him cracked open. He needed time to meditate. Time to put back the broken peices of his psyche.

But as Stanley stirred beside him, he recognized that now was not that time.

He walked over to his 'not' brother, fighting back the lack of care welling inside him. It took more concentration than he would have liked to not feel penetrating fury at Stanley for killing him.

But he wasn't dead.  That was the thing. He was Ford. Once again, he was very much _not_ dead. But he wouldn't be much longer if they didn't hurry up.

So far the one benefit that came out of being mind whacked by the creature was that he now had a wealth of information at his disposal. Information not only about the intricate workings of the space ship and its slave trader business, but also many past experiances with other organisms that existed in the infinite dimensions.

He shivered as he remembered some not so nice memories that he had to firmly remind himself _didn't_ happen to him.

"Stanley. Are you okay?" He knelt down and put a hand to the man's shoulder.

Stanley struggled awake and hobbled to his knees. He put a hand to his ear and touched it gingerly. Barely opening his eyes he let out a confused breath.

"Wh - ?"

Ford looked Stan up and down - his mind swirling with thoughts. He went through them all, deciding which ones might have more dubious origins.

Stan was covered in blood. Mostly green, but an uncomfortable amount of red too.

He held onto that. The distaste of seeing a human's blood. No. Not human. A man. A person. Sigh. This was going to get annoying.

"Are you alright Stanley? You look like you need medical attention,"

He didn't know how he'd pull that off. Nothing in the ship had anything _close_ to first aid supplies. But Stan didn't look too well. Though it might have seemed worse than it really was. He was thrown off by the sheer level of slime that coated almost every inch of his 'not' brother.

"I - I'm fine. Just ... Tired s'all. Yeah. Mostly ... exhausted," he slipped a little, and Ford fought back the urge to help.

He was still uncomfortable with how similiar this Stanley was to his own.

Stanley caught himself and got to his feet. Ford could see the gears moving behind his injured eyes and watched as his jaw clenched in determination.

"I'm fine. Come on. We - we have to find my Ford. And we need to do it _now_ ,"

Ford stared at him for a second. But at a loss for any alternative, he conceded, shrugging his shoulders.

"I suppose so. You're absolutely right. I mean my counter-part is probably quite out of right now. I'll go check the computers,"

"Wait what?" Behind him Stanley's voice was pained as Ford walked to the control systems - which he found he knew how to work with almost perfect precision now.

"Hmm?" Ford focused on locating his DNA stucture. It was curious how convenient the program worked with their predicament. If it had been anyone else, they would have had to take the time and get a saliva sample or something to that effect. But Ford knew his own genetic makeup intimately, so it worked out well.

"What makes you think he's not - ," Ford heard him gulp. "Doing very okay?"

Ford had isolated his alternate self. The computer loaded as it searched the current data base for his location.

"Oh, well I just meant the percentage of air quality purposely being maintained in the holding cells. Genius actually. To make a necessity into an asset as well in maintaining cargo,"

Stan 'ah'ed in recognition, but stayed mostly silent - mulling something over.

Ford couldn't help smile - if only a little. It really was genius. The air these creatures naturally breathed was toxic to most creatures. This he knew. But he also learned through his mind meld, that the prison cells were kept at a specific ratio of toxic air to non, so as to create an instabilitizing effect on the prisoners. It made them less focused on escaping, without poisoning them. He should have realized the flaw in his earlier hypothesis. This new one was brilliant.

And then he realized something.

"Oh no!" He let out a moan, putting a hand to his head. "This - this changes everything,"

Stan was pulled out of his thoughts.

"H-how so?"

"Everyone here is legitimately insane! I can't let out a space ship full of creatures that aren't in their right mind!"

Stan stood silent for a moment.

"Then ... don't,"

Ford swiveled, stunned at the idea.

"What?"

Stan stepped back warry. Ford couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt in coming on too strong. The guilt immediantly vanished with Stan's next words.

"We don't have to let everyone out. Just Ford. Just my brother,"

He shivered. The idea was tempting ... no.

"Absolutely not! That's - that's the whole reason I'm _here_ ," he almost felt like he was convincing himself because for a moment he couldn't even remember why.

Then he was hit with the distant memory of a dying woman. Her family. The sacrifice of her husband. It had only been a week ago, but it felt like years. The promise he'd made to her was still fresh. No amount of corrupting alien thoughts could lessen the weight of his duty. He'd promised that he'd shut this place down. That he'd release all its victims. At the time he hadn't a clue how he'd do it. But he said he'd try.

Looking at the blood spreading across the ground he marveled at how far he'd come. By chance he'd stumbled across maybe the only hope he would have ever had against a full blown psychic take over ... a near blind man. Because for the creature, eye contact was crucial. And if you couldn't see? Well then you couldn't be caught up in its firm grip on your mentality. The feeling of helplessness couldn't seep through you as the deepest parts of your mind were laid bare to a creature of crude origins ...

But here was Stanley proposing that he leave behind his mission, and to pursue Stan's own self oriented goals. It reminded him of _his_ brother. For a moment his stomach revolted in protest and he had to breath through his nose.

"Not a chance Stanley Pines. I have a job to do. And I intend to do it," in his frustration, and still wrestling with old memories mingled with wrong ones, he opened all the cell doors in the entire station with out a second thought.

A yellow siren light flashed above them as a warning alarm went off. Many distant sounds of metal doors sliding open could be heard.

Stanley had his hands over his ears.

"Didn't you just say they'd be unstable?" He yelled over the noise.

Ford's eyes widened as he realized what he'd just done. He moaned.

" _Stupid_ ," His put his face in his hand, well aware that his mind still needed some recalibration.

"Where's Ford? Where's _my_ Ford?"

The sound died down just in time for Ford to hear the desperation in Stanley's voice.

Ford sighed. He looked at the screen on the control panel.

"He's ... ," Ford thought a moment. Then he shook his head.

He didn't like Stan much, but they needed to move. He'd just remembered that the whole place had a system set up for a time just like this. He came to his descision. He'd help this Stan and then he'd wash his hands of him.

"Alright. Follow me,"

He heard a heavy sigh of relief.

"Al-alright. Let's go,"


	6. Chapter 6

He heard the siren. Distantly.

In a vague way he noticed the cell door slide open.

He felt the hiss of an atmosphere change, but it was all background noise to blackness inside his head.

Still. It could have been worse. At least he had the Stanley cheering him on in his mind. At least he had the sliver of hope that he could find his brother, and that maybe Stanley wouldn't hate him. Maybe he wouldn't give him up as a lost cause. Maybe Ford hadn't driven him away.

Logically he couldn't see how. Nothing had changed between then and the day before. Between sitting alone in a dark cell, and standing side by side with Stanley in a city. They may not have been completely safe, but they'd been together. Yet the prevailing voice in his mind argued otherwise.

He didn't bother standing. He never tried to leave. He didn't follow the anguished cries of hope that shuffled out the door. Each more depressing then the last.

He stayed huddled in a corner. He was breathing. In. And out. He breathed. He remained calm. Or at least as calm as he could. The main anxiety had worn off in the first hour.

An hour of horror. An hour of eyes. An hour of indecision, and lack of certainty in reality.

But then he'd breathed. He'd calmed down. He focused on Stanley's voice. He'd grown resolute.

He'd stay strong. For Stanley he'd weather the crazy. After a while he accepted the eyes. He accepted their glares.

He didn't like it, but it was the only way to keep himself from over the edge. He didn't _pretend_ the figments of his mind were real - he _believed_ them. He knew as sure as day that he had made his way back into the cave. He knew that the thin steel bars were the only thing keeping him from certain death. Keeping whatever monster's claws surrounded him from ripping into his flesh.

It was the only way to disprove the voice's words. In some twisted logic, the only way the voices could be imaginary was if the eyes were real. And the thoughts invading his mind were _not_ real. He wouldn't let them be. He couldn't accept it. He would never turn his back on hoping for Stanley. The moment he gave in to that notion, was the moment he passed the point of no return. It was the moment his brothers touch couldn't bring him down from the cliff of insanity. It was the moment his mind was lost forever.

So when his cage came open. When the outside air mingled with the room. When he no longer had a barrier to protect himself against the inevitable horrors - he simply shrunk in closer. Hiding away. Desperatley begging nothing to find him as he waited.

And as he did so, he wished he could be stronger. He wished he could face their stinging bites. But he was rooted in place. His mind far too free. His body far too frozen.

He wished he could be brave like Stanley. He wished he could thoughtlessly through himself against his opponent. But then his mind took over and he couldn't help but think of every way he could lose. He couldn't help as anxiety dominated him and he clamped up.

He was like a wave of thoughts floating through space. Alone he was nothing more than a ghost. Some sort of spirit haunting the universe. Nothing but a soul disconnected from reality.

He needed Stanley to ground him. Stanley connected him to his body - made him use his senses. Without Stanley he was nothing more than a useless mass of brains. But _with_ his brother - he felt like he existed outside his mind. He felt like life was worth living. Like the stupid roses were worth smelling. His stupid brother, and the stupid way he looked at things, and the stupid way he made him feel safe. It all helped.

If only he had the courage to stand and to seek out what he so desperately needed.

But the eyes were still watching him. Even with everyone gone, they were still there.

So he waited. If he couldn't brave the world, then he'd brave the horrors of his brain for a little while longer. He should be used to it now shouldn't he? After everything he'd been through - he of all people should know how to deal with his cracked mess of a mindscape.

Despite the insanity constantly threatening to break through, he still stayed stable. He still let reason guide him. Even if he questioned everything he saw. Everything he smelt, touched, and heard. He still focused on what needed to be done. He wouldn't let himself loose reason again.

But it wasn't enough. He needed to move. To feel. To see. He needed to work his body and go find his brother because for all he knew Stanley was still trapped on that planet - blind and alone.

But he was blind too. Blind to reality. Blind to the figments of his imagination. He couldn't function without Stan, and as each ticking second passed, it became more and more evident how true that really was.

At least Stan was regaining his sight. At least Stan still had two wits about him. The main reason Ford was so scared was because of Stanley. Was because Stanley could make it apart from Ford. Stanley could survive alone if he had to. Or if he wanted to.

But Ford was so lost in the trenches of his own mind. He wouldn't last a day. He _wasn't_ lasting a day. The opportunity to escape and actually _do_ something finally came, yet he couldn't move.

He was exhausted. The battle in his mind was getting tiring. Nothing like this had ever lasted so long. He'd normally snap out of it after while, but still his nightmares persisted. He stopped caring what the voices said after a while. Thankfully it wasn't as much like the cave. This felt less like a knife at the throat of his mind, and more like sand paper wearing him down.

He just wanted it to end. He was ready for it to _go away_. But it wouldn't. And all he could do was wait.


	7. Chapter 7

Huddled alone in the cell, the kid missed his mother. He missed the way she ruffled his hair. The way she'd make him glob cakes and lactose. He even missed his sister. He'd let her tease him every day for the rest of his life if it just meant he could finally go home.

He just wanted to go back to his family.

And then the noise came and the cell door opened. His eyes went wide. Was it a trick? He didn't know. But hesitantly he stuck his head out and watched as the others around him stopped moaning for a moment to look around too. He wiped the tears from his face and stood.

The small man beside him suddenly lept up and made a break for the door. His hungry mind had made him look like his favorite food - a delicious poached snail with butterbun dressing. But as he ran for the door, his image changed into the speeding form of a raceboard with a stubby bearded head.

That raceboard crashed. A great big purple boar rammed it sideways, knocking it against the wall. Something dislodged from its pockets and skittered to his feet. He gulped then bent down to pick it up. His hands shook as he realized it was a weapon.

The crazed boar picked up the raceboard by his collar and started punching him in the face. Everyone else screamed and made a break for the door.

He stepped back and watched the chaos unfold. Slipping the gun into his jacket he leaned against his far wall shivering. The boar howled then slammed the raceboard into the ground. He had green eyes that glowed. His head whipped towards the kid. The kids eyes went wide and his heart sped up.

Slowly the purple boar crept closer, the kid breathing deep. Any second and he knew the boar would leap. Thinking fast he took out the gun and pointed it towards the purple monster. With wobbling hands he closed his eyes and pulled the trigger. The gun sizzle in his fingers as the hot ray blasted out. He heard a yelp and stared as the boar was knocked back. He took a step forward to eyed the fallen form. It moaned and then stopped moving. The kid was scared that he'd killed it. But catching sight of the labored rise and fall of its chest he realized it was just stunned.

He looked around and saw that he wasn't safe staying where he was. He put the gun back into his jacket and walked out of the room. All around him were screams with small fights breaking out. It was a nightmare filled with creatures he'd only seen in his dreams. He ducked and crawled out of the main hall.

Picking up speed he sprinted from the others. Too many creatures were surrounding him. He scrambled away, looking for saftey. Up and down the passages people, and monsters, and creatures made their way from open doors. Behind him a woman shouted.

"My baby! Carlooo! Carlo come here! My poor precious baby! Come here! It's your mother!"

His eyes widened as she came closer. He stumbled over himself in his haste to flee.

His eyes were growing hazy, but he shook his head. He had to keep moving. Otherwise they'd get him. Something would grab him and catch him, and throw him in another cage. He had to get back home. He had to make his way back to his family.

Head down he kept moving. He found an empty part of the ship and raced to find some sort of exit. Instead he ran headlong into another man. They both bounced back and fell to the floor. He winced.

"A child? What - ? Are you alright?"

He looked up and saw another man looking at him concerned. He noticed the mask over his face and suddenly his image distorted into an insectoid creature. He yelped and scrambled back.

"Hey, hey. It's alright. I'm not going to hurt you,"

He couldn't believe him. He pulled out his gun and pointed it in his direction. The other man he'd knocked down was getting to his feet.

"We don't have time," he heard him mumble. "We - we should go,"

He had a hand to his head and wasn't looking anywhere in paticular.

"Stanley! He's just a kid! Give me one moment, alright?"

The kid waved the gun, switching his aim between the two people infront of him.

"Just calm down young man. Everything should be okay,"

He heard a buzzing noise. Looking up he saw the ceiling was swaying above him. It distorted into a sea of moving creatures and he gasped. To his side he saw one of the men look up too.

"The security system. It's activating. This is bad,"

"Exactly," the other man hissed. "Forget the kid. We have to go,"

The other man scowled at the comment. The kid stepped closer, keeping the gun leveled. He just wanted to leave.

He heard a shriek above him that sent his nerves on end. He pulled the trigger.

"Whoah!"

The blast flew out of the gun and grazed the ear of the man whose eyes wandered. He winced then doubled over.

"Hold it! It's okay! Everything fine. Just hold your fire,"

The kid stepped back. He was shaking, but he didn't lower the gun. The insectoid man changed again. More into a peaceful flower. But then it had teeth. And those teeth dripped with hungry saliva ...

The huddled man looked over to him. His eyes were everywhere, but for a moment they connected with the kid's. The kid saw his muscles bunch, so he stepped forward, prepared to pull the trigger again. But then the gun was out of his hand and he flew against a wall. He moaned in pain, till suddenly he was cut off. He looked and saw the man - his face distorted red with anger.

Horns grew outwards and the whites of his eyes turned into black holes. His heart raced, but he couldn't breath. The clawed fingers around his neck were cutting off his air. The black eyes were twitching, an angry scowl screwing up its face. He put his hands to the grip on his neck, fighting against his assailant.

"Stanley Pines! What on earth are you doing! Let him GO!"

The flower man ran to their side, tearing at the demons arms.

The demon twitched, but his fist tightened. He didn't speak as the kid struggled beneath him.

"Stanley!"

The demons head whipped to the flower. He stared in anger, but then his face softened. The claws lossened.

"He's just a kid! Let him go, or I swear I'll - ,"

The kid dropped to the floor. The demon backed with a huff as the kid gasped. The flower was at his side in a moment. He ran a hand against his back.

"Breath. Just breath," he looked to the demon. "What is _wrong_ with you?"

The kid pushed the flower monster off him. He didn't like how comforting it felt. He didn't trust the kindness.

He scrambled to his feet and took off. He didn't care if he left the gun behind him, he just needed to get out of there.

He looked back and saw he wasn't being followed. He breathed in relief.

He kept running. He needed to find a way out. So he could find his family.


	8. Chapter 8

"Breath. Just breath," Ford looked over at him. "What is wrong with you?" He spat out.

Stanley back up. His hands shook, but he couldn't keep the rage from making them clench open and closed over and over. His left side ached from exertion, but it paled in comparison to the mess in his mind.

He heard the kid push Ford away, then take off running.

"No, wait a minute!"

But it was too late. He was already gone.

Stanley barely noticed. He was too caught up in his thoughts. The burning sensation that still buzzed by his ear filled his whole head.

"Stanley, that was just a kid," Ford took a step towards him and Stanley stepped back.

Kid sm'id. What did he care? That hadn't stopped his frenzied fear from taking over. That hadn't stopped his body from leaping forward - ready to fight, ready to defend himself.

Against a kid.

He was shaking all over. He needed Ford.

He heard his brother growl in disgust.

"I knew you'd be trouble. I knew it,"

But ... but Ford was right there.

The memories over took him. The pain, the heat. Ford wouldn't stop. He'd trusted him, and he betrayed that trust. He'd hurt him. Ford hurt him. He stole his eyes, and now he was here again. Just as much a danger as he was then.

Why did he ever attack the kid? The real threat was Ford. The real danger was his brother standing in front of him. If he got a punch in now -

No! No no no no. It was all so much confusion. So much worry, so much hurt.

He wouldn't lay a hand on his brother. He didn't think he could. Even after everything, even if it wasn't Ford. Even if it wasn't his Ford, he still didn't think he could throw that punch.

But he was still being ripped to shreds. All he could do was cower in his mind as the menacing form of his brother hovered over him. He was helpless. Helpless to the man infront of him. Helpless to the thoughts and feelings threatening to overtake him.

He'd been fighting himself all day. He wasn't sure how much longer he could hold out. He was so exhausted. Physically. Mentally, emotionally. He didn't know where to find peace from the rage and fear that swelled in his brain. He tried to go numb, but it wasn't much use. He'd never been able to master his mind as well as Ford.

His body sure. If it wasn't for the physical endurance he'd built up over the years, then he wouldn't still be standing. His body was so tired. His bones ached and his cuts throbbed. That kind of pain he could block out. That kind of hurt he could push away for later. Or at least use to steady himself. It was a welcome ache.

But his mind was a mess. He didn't know what to think. He wasn't sure what to do. He grappled for an answer. Anything. Anything at all that might give him focus. That might let him keep his mind on one track so he wouldn't have to dwell on the thoughts that burned like past fire in his brain.

He really needed Ford. His Ford. He needed his brother to ground his swirling thoughts. To let him slip into their easy patterns. To let him not have to think.

Nothing else mattered. Nothing. Not the family he stole the ship from. Not the toxin filled slaves that were filling the halls. Not the scared kid that had fled in fear. He didn't care about all that. He had no reason to. He had no reason to care for anyone or anything but Ford. Forget morals, he needed his brother. He'd worry about doing the right thing later. After he got what he needed.

He stood straighter, a new resolution building inside him.

"Which way?" He demanded

Ford went silent.

"I said which way?"

"Something is very wrong with you Stanley Pines,"

He could hear the wavering distaste in Ford voice.

But he didn't care.

"Which way, and then I'll be outa your hair. Now let's go,"

Ford paused for a long second.

"... Down this hall. First door on your left. You'll have to excuse me for leaving you to find it on your own, but I've got people to help," the venom in his voice couldn't be clearer, but Stanley ignored it.

Even if he couldn't see as good, his gazed jerked down the corridor. He heard Ford turn and retreat back the way they came, but he was too busy running ahead.

People bumped into him, but he wasn't paying attention. He ran a hand across the wall till he reached empty space. Fear pounded in his chest. Scrambling forward he found where the wall continued on the other side. He picked up the pace, and then felt the frame of a doorway. His heart soared, and for one hesitant moment he called out in anxious anticipation.

"Oie! Sixer?" His traitourous voice wobbled.

He couldn't see. It was too dark. He waited precious seconds for a sound. Something. Anything.

"S-stanley?"

Thick relief washed over him. He found him. He was here. 

Everything shut down. His body, his mind. Everything.

And then he kicked onto auto pilot. Sweet, blissful patterns. Easy, relishing familiarity that he only knew with his brother.

He walked in and hesitantly found his way to Ford.


	9. Chapter 9

"Oie! Sixer?"

The words cut through his mind like a blade. Everything halted. His thoughts froze, the voices stopped, and even the eyes turned to looked behind him. Ford turned and saw a silhouett in the doorway.

"S-stanley?" He breathed. He was surprised he could even get the word out.

"Yes!" He heard his brother cheer. "I'm here. I'ma here Sixer,"

He couldn't believe it. The voices in his head started up again. Telling him he shouldn't believe it. Telling him it wasn't real. That it was just another trick of his mind.

But he knew. It was Stanley. He was here. He hadn't abandoned him. The joy that filled his chest was almost indescribable.

He wanted to shout out, he wanted to run to Stan and clap his hand in his, but he was still frozen to the floor. He willed Stanley with his mind, and almost as if his brother could hear his silent thoughts, Stan made his way over.

Stanley lifted his hands forward. It was a discrete motion that wasn't lost on Ford. The familiar feeling of guilt swelled inside him. But as usual he replaced it with the desire to reach out and help. It got him to finally move, and he stood and held up an arm, taking his brother's hand in his.

He felt an unpleasant goo on the back of Stan's hand, and took the time to actually look at him in the lighting. He shivered at what he saw.

His brother was cover in thick green slime, but what was more disturbing was the blood. Red ran from his arm, and shoulder, and even his face. His brother looked exhausted. His shoulders were hunched, and his sightless eyes drooped. He was battered and bruised, and Ford couldn't help but question how he'd gotten so banged up in such a short time.

 _This is all your fault._ The voices crooned. _If_ _you'd_ _only escaped sooner. If_ _you'd_ _never built the portal. If_ _you'd_ _never existed._

Their reasoning was getting more and more stretched, but the force of their words still made him warry. He shivered again.

Stanley squeezed his hand.

"Everything's gonna be peachy now, alright?" And then as if he could sense his thoughts, "I'm gonna be fine. _You're_ gonna be fine. Come here,"

And at that moment Stan could've been covered in vomit for all he cared. It didn't stop him from finding comfort in his brother's sure arms. Stanley led him back to the floor where they leaned against the wall, taking a moment to breath.

Ford focused everything on his grip with Stan's hand. The eyes were still there, but he ignored them as he focused on his brother's breathing.

"Take this," Stan handed something to Ford, and he realized it was whatever mask he'd been wearing before.

He wanted to ask so many question, but he still couldn't speak. He couldn't make out the words, only reach with another tentive palm.

"It's a breathing thing-a-ma-bob. The air 's all messed up," he helped Ford put it over his face, somehow still keeping his six fingered grip.

Suddenly clear clean oxygen filled his lungs. He gasped, surprised by how good it felt. Surprised by how much his chest had ached without him realizing.

In a moment the eyes dissipated. The voice started to fade and his head cleared for the first time in hours.

Stanley was handling Ford's fingers. One by one he went up and down, eyes closed, mumbling something under his breath. He noticed a small hesitation in his brother's actions, and wondered what it was.

Ford relished the new clarity. His mind no longer felt quite as frayed, and his heart reduced it's speed significantly. But his brother's comforting presence brought a more grounded sense of self than he could have ever gained by the respirator alone.

"Better?

Ford squeezed Stan's hand back in reply.

He froze when he heard him wince.

"S-s-stanley - ?"

"I'ma fine Sixer. Come on. We should get outta here,"

Ford realized they probably weren't sitting down for his sake more than for Stanley's. Questions flooded his mind.

What happened? How'd he find him. What was wrong with the air? Why did the cell open earlier? Wasn't he worried about the guards?

"W-w-wh - ," he cursed his tongue for how aweful it betrayed him. But he still couldn't speak. No matter how much crazy had left him, his mouth still wouldn't work with him.

Stan breathed in deeply. He could tell his brother just wanted to sit there and fall asleep. Instead he opened his eyes and tugged at Ford's arm.

"Sixer, think ya can walk?"

Ford responded by getting to his feet. Stan smiled and then put a hand down and grimanced as he tried to follow suit. Ford helped pull Stan up, till his brother groaned and he realized he was only hurting him more. Stanley made it, but Ford still let out a growl.

"Can't do a thing till we're scarce. So let's go then,"

Ford thought through his options and realized Stan was right. Right then Stan was shouldering the worst of their predicament. He was tired and hurt, and Ford suddenly remembered he'd given Ford his referbirator. So he didn't have one of his own to protect him against whatever was in the air. They needed to leave, and quickly.

Ford pulled away his hand, quickly replacing it to his elbow. Stan gripped his arm too and took in a shaky breath. Ford glanced his way, but his brother seemed more or less okay, even a little brighter than before.

"After you nerd,"

Ford was encouraged that Stan had the heart to insult him. They fell into their old habits. Ford lead the way out the door as Stanley followed.

Once outside, Ford froze. All around him were the crazed forms of his fellow prisoners. Their cracked mentality seeped it's way into his skin and he couldn't keep himself from balking.

He didn't know if he could do this. He didn't know how well he could face the swarms of people all around him.

Some one to his left was being smashed to a pulp, and he winced at each blow. Then to their right a woman was crying out for her child. She weaved between flying fists, crying out for a baby. Further down some one screamed and yelled that he was drowning.

Ford was overwhelmed.

And then there was the thought. A question. If he was only half as bad as these people when he had one of his episodes ... he eyed Stanley timidly.

But Stanley wasn't staring at him. He had his eyes closed. Ford wondered if he'd fallen asleep on his feet. But his grip hadn't loosened, and his face was confused.

Something was wrong. Stanley sensed something disturbing.

"S-s-st - ,"

"They've stopped moving," he whispered.

"W-w-wh - ?"

"The control room. They weren't by the control room. Maybe if we go there - ,"

Stanley got cut off by a million screeches above them. Ford looked up in horror as thousands of small creatures descended. They were engulfed in masses of tiny bodies with vicious claws and pointy teeth.

He put his hands over his head, and then swat away the dozens of tiny legs that skittered across his arms. He flailed against the tiny marks of pain that stretched around his skin. Besides him Stanley stomped his feet and tried flinging the things off.

Everyone was consumed, and the low screams grew into loud shouts of pain and surprise.

They had to get out of there, and fast. He somehow made his way to Stanley and grabbed his arm. They wrestled their way across the hall, and after a minute Stan took the lead.

Finally they reached a thinning in creatures, till the ones still attached to their clothes let go and ran off. They both took a moment to catch their breath. Then Stan stiffened.

"Oh, no," he mumbled.

Ford was confused till he heard the sharp clicks and rattles that were headed their way. He looked and saw two tall, thin, bone skin alien creatures with nothing but belts at their sides. He was momentarily fascinated by their atonomy, and let his mind wander to their evolutionary conception.

"Come back for round two, ya weak alien freaks?" Stan yelled out mocking.

It dawned on Ford that this must've been how he got so banged up. By fighting these creatures. He gulped, not liking the idea one bit. The thought of Stan having to fight these things alone, and realized he'd be doing it too in just a second.

The creatures shrieked, the blank face opening in an X to reveal their layers of sharp teeth lined up like a vortex in their mouth.

They unholstered knives and stepped forward shrieking.

Stan smiled wryly, but despite the bravado, he saw a flash of fear cross his face. It was unnerving to catch, and it unbalanced Ford. One of the things slashed out with its knife. He barely stepped back before cold steel tore through the air where he'd once been.

Besides him Stanley threw a kick that landed in the things side. The other creature came up on their left and jabbed with the knife. With out thinking he yanked his brother away. Stanley's eyes widened in surprise, but he didn't bother fighting it. Instead he followed the motion, and then jammed his knee up - right when the thing was low. Ford heard a sickening crunch, and then a pained howl. Stan's grip on his arm let go to deliver a right handed fist to its head.

Infront of him the other creature screamed in anger. It advanced too quick, and he got a fist to the face - knocking him to the ground. He was dazed and unable to move as the thing grabbed him by the front of his shirt.

Stanley was was shaking. He could tell his brother was straining his ears, but didn't know where Ford was. The thing screamed and it was defening. His mind whirled and he did the only thing he could think of. He reached out a hand and found Stanley's arm.

Immediantly he dropped to the floor as he saw Stanley's elbow jab out at the creature. Stanley kicked and the thing flew back. It recovered quickly, and slashed out. Ford pulled Stan away. Once again Stan followed the motion and then countered with a fist. He missed, and the thing lashed out with its own punch.

Ford was too slow, and Stanley got a shock to his shoulder.

His brother doubled over, clutching his left side. Ford's eyes widened, but he didn't know what to do other than pull the two of them away again as the knife lashed closer. But when he heard Stan's hiss of pain through clenched teeth, he dropped all misgivings and struck out. The thing fell back with a yelp, and sweet satisfaction flowed through him.

Stanley squeezed his arm, and without a word he knew what his brother needed. He pulled Stan forward, guiding him to the creature in one swift motion. Stan slammed his foot down and another crunch floated through his ears.

Then they were breathing heavily. Stanley more so than Ford. He looked at his brother and a new layer of green slimmed, apparently blood, covered him. But despite his labored breath he still had a small smile on his face.

"So much easier," he heard him mumble.

Ford gulped. All he could think of was his brother's wounds and at that moment all he really wanted to do was get Stan patched up.

But there wasn't any medical supplies. No room to safely take a moment to rest. They needed out of there.

Ford gave Stan's arm a squeeze.

 _Just a little longer_ _,_ he thought to his brother.

"Control room 's over there," Stan pointed.

Ford looked and saw the large doors, heavily adorned in gold. They made their way to it. Stanley pushed them aside and they stepped in.

Ford looked around and saw the bodies of four more creatures. Plus a great large one that was leaking a continual stream of slime. Ford wrinkled his nose as they stepped around it.

Then he stopped cold.

Standing infront of them was another man working away at the control panel. The man turned at their aproach and Ford saw that it was ...

Himself.

Stan's brow furrowed in confusion at his brother's reaction.

Ford's mind spun. Did Stanley see what he was seeing? Or was Ford having another episode? Was this some sort of monster attack?

"You found him," he heard his own voice say dryly. He saw himself stare at Stan reproachful, and then rake his eyes over to him in immense curiosity.

He watched understanding dawn on his brothers face and then he broke into an easy smile.

"Sure did. Right where you said," he motioned to the mysterious other Ford's direction. "Look Sixer. I forgot to mention that I found your _twin_ ,"

The other him stared at Stan with a strange look.

"Um, not twin," he said. He stepped forward and held out a hand. "Alternate dimension Ford Pines. Nice to meet you. This is ... extremely fascinating,"

Ford stared at Stanley, but his brother didn't give him any signs that something was off. It was relieving to have found a logical explanation for something he could only explain as bizarre. And he had to admit. It _was_ fascinating.

He held out a hand and shook his counterpart's. It was a double six fingered shake, and he gazed curiously at the man's extra apendage. When he looked up he saw that the other him had been looking too. Ford gave a soft smile, and the other Ford did too.

"You don't seem that surprised Sixer,"

The Ford's turned to look at Stanely. His other self responded first.

"Well personally I've always theorized soemthing like this was possible. I'm sure you have too?" The other him looked at him questioningly. Ford nodded in agreement.

He'd always figured that with an infinite amount of dimensions, some parallel universes might bleed through at some point.

Ford looked around.

"Wh-where is ... Stan?"

His other self looked at confused

"Hmm? I didn't quite catch that,"

But Stan had heard him. His face looked pensive for a moment. Then he smiled.

"He wondered where the other me is Ford. I mean other Ford. Not you Ford. This Ford. Gah! Anyways,"

His other self gave a scowl.

"Thankfully my Stanley is back on earth. Not messing things up in multiple dimensions,"

Ford got an uneasy feeling deep in his gut, but Stan waved his hand as if to dispell the sudden harsh atmosphere.

"Of course there isn't another me. No one could replace this level of greatness,"

" ... right," His other self was watching Stan through narrowed eyes.

They were all quite a moment. Then Stan put a hand to his head.

"Ug. My brain 's starting to hurt,"

Fear sparked inside him. He worried that maybe Stan's injuries had been worse than he thought.

"I know your doing it too. The both of you. So from now on, you're Sixer, and you're Alternate Universe Ford. Got it? AUFord even. That way we don't drive ourselves crazy when we think about each other in our brains. And if makes you feel better AUFord then I can be AUStan too if you like. I don't care,"

Ford nearly sighed in relief. It was just Stanley's usual antics.

"Ah ... yes. I suppose," His other self - no, AUFord - seemed disinterested. "Well this was a pleasant distraction ... , but I'm busy," he turned and looked back at the control panel.

Ford watched AUFord curiously. He wanted to ask what he was doing, but he couldn't get the words to speak. They were stuck in his throat. Trapped by some hidden fear he couldn't identify. Thankfully Stan came to his aid.

"AUFord is tryin' to shut this place down. He's going all science on the control's over there. Gonna get rid of the space station business thing,"

"Yes, I'm trying to figure out how to call back the creatures. But all the toxin filled people are a problem too. I just wish there was a way to connect with the security orders, but that died with their ring leader,"

Ford looked at the bodies behind him, and then stepped up to the controls. It was a mass of wires, switches, and knobs. He didn't have the first clue how any of it worked, and marveled at AUFord's adept skill.

"Wanna help?" Stan asked.

It was obvious he did. All those people out there. They'd still be stuck too if Stan hadn't thought to go here.

"You got this right?" He motioned to the control panel.

Ford balked. AUFord glanced their way.

"Probably not Stanley. It's at complicated mess of mostly telepathic interfaces. I've only got the basics because I accidently mind melded with the creature before you killed it,"

"I ... did not know that," Stanley looked behind them vaguely. 

Mind meld? Psychic connection? That would certainly explain a lot of the infrustructure of the space station and its set up.

Stanley took in a few deep breaths.

Ford walked over to AUFord. He forced himself to speak. He forced his mouth open and for words to come out.

"W-w-wh - T-t-the, the um. T-t-tox-toxic - toxin - ,"

AUFord was looking at him strangley, but knew what he was asking.

"The air these creatures breath is toxic to us. I think you've noticed right? Stanley gave you the refirberator - ,"

"You don't happen to have another one of those thing-a-ma-bobs do you?"

AUFord frowned.

"I only had the one spare. But yes. Without the refirberator the air will slowly kill us all if we can't do something about it,"

Ford was worried about Stanley. He wanted to take his mask off and give it back, but knew that was pointless. Then he'd be useless, and Stanley would have even more trouble to worry about.

An idea struck him.

"T-t-the -t-he a-a-ai-air,"

His fist clenched in annoyance. He felt Stanley's hand on his shoulder. He breathed.

"The a-air v-vents. S-shove - S-shove it full of - o-of - Ox-oxygen,"

AUFord stared at him for a moment, and then his eyes widened. He turned to the controls and got to work

"Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant! If we fill the the place with breathable air, not only does the toxins get released from everyone's system, but the creatures can't breath it either! They'll all suffocate and then this place really will be out of commission. With not a creature left to build it back up. That's - that's excellant. I can't believe I didn't think of it before," His hands were scrambling up and down he control system, focusing on the air levels and messing with percentages.

Ford couldn't help but smile at his conterparts praise.

"Your absolutely welcome AU," Stanley let out a muffled cough. "Do you - ," another cough. " - think it'll take too long?"

AUFord barely looked up.

"Your impatience is stifling Stanley Pines,"

Stan laughed.

"Right," he breathed in and out, and gripped Ford.

"Y-you al - al - you -o-okay?" He mumbled to Stan.

Stanley looked and examined the ceiling.

"Tired. Just tired," His eyes trailed around as if he could see something moving above them.

Ford wondered if he was hulucinating.

"S-stan. You need t-to sit," His voice barely rose above a whisper, but it was the only way he could get the words out.

Stan didn't acknowledge him, and for a moment he hadn't thought he heard.

"S-stanley - ,"

Stan looked at him as if just realizing he was there.

"Ford?"

"Y-yeah,"

" ... ,"

"S-s-stanley?"

Stan shook his head.

"Never mind,"

Stanley was staring to really worry him now.

"S-stan. Y-y-you n-need to - ,"

"There!" AUFord interupted. "That should do it. I even unlocked all the ships and escape pods,"

Ford heard a hiss of air, and realized the oxygen was already starting to meld into the ships atmosphere. Suddenly Stan tensed. Ford looked at him confused, till he heard a mass of clicks and rattles coming closer.

He turned and saw a dozen or so of the creatures stepping into the room. All of their blades were drawn and they looked ready to fight.

"They should all be fired. Their timing is way off,"

Ford looked to AUFord. AUFord looked back at him.

"Oh, Um ... nevermind," AUFord pulled out a gun. "They've also all brought knives to a gun fight," AUFord started shooting.

They all screeched and lept forward to attack.


	10. Chapter 10

The two brothers moved like water. Back and forth, each catching the other's openings. AUFord was almost impressed. They made a good team.

As the air filtered in, Stanley's lungs grew lighter. He no longer felt the telltale acid ripping down his throat. It wasn't as refreshing as a sudden gasp of pure oxygen, but it was still a welcome relief. He even thought that coming back from the long agonizing death of suffocation was better than not slowly choking on the poison in the first place. His limbs filled with new energy, and he had more strength to take on the challenges he might not have otherwise. He may have been dead on his feet, but at least now he felt like he could come back as a Zombie just to make sure things got done.

And then Stanley was the first to notice the noise. The small whine in the back of the creatures' throat. The soft hiss of burning rubber. 

The stink came next. It was nothing like the lavender that infested the room. It was a putrid tang that stung his nose.

"What's that smell? Ug it's aweful!"

AUFord shot down the last of the creatures. His aim was impressive, and Stanley wondered when he might get Ford and himself guns like that.

"What smell?" AUFord looked around.

Stan heard a tiny pop.

"What was that?" He asked.

Another pop followed.

"I think it's coming from over there,"

Ford didn't think Stan knew what he was pointing at as Ford directed his gaze to the dead body of the largest alien. The 'ring leader' AUFord had called it.

More pops sounded out and this time the Fords could hear too. They looked, and then to their amazement saw the creature's skin bubble like boiling water.

"It's the air," AUFord noted. "It's reacting with their cells. Some sort of oxidized reaction with an Alkali element. It's - ," AUFord stopped cold. "We have to leave. _Now_ ,"

Ford was confused. And then it hit him. Alkali metals. Air. Oxygen. Hydrogen. Water ...

He made his way to Stanley in a single swift motion. He took hold of his arm and dragged him away in a firm yet tender grip.

"I don't understand. What's the problem?"

Ford felt cheered by Stanley's firmer tone. He didn't seem as tired as before and it was comforting. But they still needed to leave. He didn't need 12 PhDs to understand basic college Chem 101 - maybe even high school physics.

"Ex-explosion," he whispered.

Stanley still looked confused, but he didn't need anymore of an explanation to recognize the danger.

"Wait a moment please!"

He looked back and saw AUFord run up next to them.

"My space ship just got 'commandeered'. So I was wondering - how are _you two_ getting out of here?"

Ford paused, looking up. He hadn't really thought about it.

"The thing I came in on 's probably too small for even just the two of us Sixer,"

"Well ... do either of you know how to fly a command class space ship - level 5?"

"I have no idea what that is,"

"Look, I wouldn't ask, but I don't think I trust myself to fly. My mind is still focused on telepathic controls,"

Ford started to grow curious about what kind of information AUFord was subject to by the interacttion with the alien creature's mind.

Stanley grew a sly smile.

"Well actually. I think _I_ could manage. I mean I got here alright didn't I?"

Ford looked at his brother. He could tell a story was there, and he could also tell it probably involed almost crashing. Ford rolled his eyes, happy his brother was in the mood to make jokes.

"I-I-I can - can try ... ,"

"No seriously Ford. Let me take a shot at it. I'll have us zooming off again in no time. I'll - ,"

But AUFord had already nodded in agreement, and they were heading away again.

" - I'll work my magic. I can press a few do-hickeys. Jab a button or two. Easy,"

Ford doubted it. He'd taken a look at some of the stuff space ships were made of. It usually involed more than just a few buttons. He figured if he could get a handle on the circuitry behind everything, than he might be able to give it a shot. And if anything AUFord could fill him in even if he wouldn't be flying himself.

But still. He appreciated the thoughtless banter Stanley was letting out. It eased his nerves.

Then AUFord froze infront of him, and the feeling passed.

Stanley kept walking forward till Ford held him still.

"What? Why'd we stop?"

AUFord was looking down, and Ford followed his gaze. His breath caught in his throat.

There, laying on the ground in front of them, was the still form of a child. Stanley seemed to sense something was wrong as he stayed silent.

"The - the air," he heard AUFord nearly choke out. "It must've gotten to him. H-his body. Must've been too small ... ,"

Ford was horrified. Everything stopped. Suddenly seeing the small lifeless figure laying there made it real. Far, far too real.

So far it'd all been in his mind. He'd known they weren't exactly safe, but Stanley had made it seem so okay. His brother had been torn to shreds, but was still laughing. It couldn't have been that bad, right? They'd been exposed to toxins, but they were breathing. AUFord had pumped the ship back up to make it fine.

Even the wretched creatures that controled this place didn't look human enough to concern himself with when they died.

But seeing the kid laying there. It sent him spiraling out of control.

And then it only got worse.

" _You_ ,"

He hadn't been paying much attention to Stanley, but at AUFord's voice, he saw his ears turn red. His eyes shown with recognition. His face darkened and displayed a cross between shame and anger.

Ford's brain was sluggish. One moment they were standing there. The next Stan was up against a wall, AUFord's arm pushed against his chest, elbow digging into his shoulder - perfectly aware of the pain he was inducing.

AUFord was livid. He'd been uncomfortable with Stanley so far up to this point, but when he caught sight of the broken body of the kid they'd ran into earlier, something inside him snapped.

Stanley for his part was a mess of emotions. He honestly didn't know what to think. He'd strained his eyes, caught sight of the small form laying on the ground, overheard the surprised words.

But it was the sudden crackle of tension that rolled off AUFord that truly alerted him to what was going on.

He had to admit. He was guilty. How could he not be? But Ford was still besides him, he'd gotten what he needed. They were on their way out. It worried him how little he cared. He felt that somehow the sting inside his chest should be worse. But instead he was worried about Ford. His brother was tense besides him. He could tell how much the scene disturbed him. And somehow that more than anything made the shame creep through him.

As for anger? He was mostly defensive. He didn't want to have to justify himself to anyone but his brother, and so long as Ford never asked. So long as Ford never knew. Then maybe they could all forget about the whole thing. Besides. He knew Ford would only end up blaming himself at the end of it. Blame himself for the fear that gripped Stan's chest everytime the heat came too close. Everytime the fire became too intense.

AUFord hadn't helped much either. He was just one great big reminder of what he and his brother used to be. Of how they could still turn out if things went sour. He was a slap to the face. An image of the one fear Stanley could never seem to outrun.

It was as he got caught up in those kinds of thoughts that his brother knocked into him - shoving him against the wall. He tried to moved, but the arm was held firm against his chest. The elbow dug in and at that moment he didn't even care if it wasn't anywhere near as bad as it could be. It was still pain. Still pain from Ford. From that face. From a figure that wouldn't let up as fire darts shot into his body, bringing agony.

The hot burning wood against flesh. The firm arm. The relentless grip that begged him to stay still.

It was all too much. Too much recollection. Too many thoughts too long supressed. It was too real. Too vivid as reality helped embellish memory because Ford _never_ hurt him. He just didn't.

He let out one small, pitiful whimper, and then nothing.

AUFord didn't know what he was doing. He was just mad. Mad at Stanley for hindering him from helping the kid. Mad at him for making the child's last moments be filled with fear and pain. Mad at Stanley for being a self centered, inconsiderate, _louse_.

He was furious at Stanley for getting him stuck here in the portal where monster's invaded his mind like a knife, and haunting versions of his brother showed up blind for the sole purpose of reminding him that Stanley wasn't there. That Stanley was back on _earth_ , and that the last time he'd seen his brother had been after _ten years_ of bitter grudges. He was mad, and in pain, and was sure that every drop of seething rage dripped from his skin to roll like a thundering wave straight to the Stanley beneath his grasp. But he didn't care.

And then a shaking had gripped his shoulder and he was tossed away. He was ripped from Stanley and flung against the opposite wall, so that once again there was silence.

Ford stood, not moving. But underneath his calm exterior hot anger boiled. It took immense effort to keep himself from ripping AUFord in two for being so thoughtless. Hearing that kind of sound escape Stan's mouth set him on edge. It was a noise that he'd only been privy to a handful of times. But despite the immediate reaction that had him thrusting AUFord away, all he wanted now was to satisfy the overwhelming urge to comfort his brother.

He took a step forward and Stan flinched.

Every hair on Ford's body stood on end. Something was wrong. Something was so very, _terribly_ wrong.

He expected Stan to be shaking. He thought maybe a grimance of pain, or a trace of fear. But instead nothing. Stan did nothing. He stared at nothing. It was as if he _was_ nothing.

He'd frozen up. Shut down. Retreated into his mind, pretending he didn't exist. And it was so _wrong_. Because Stan didn't do that. Stan didn't freeze. Ford froze. Stan lashed out. Stan got bigger than life. Stan didn't bottle things away and toss it aside. Stan blew up. He got everything out into the open and out of the way, so that it was there, it was dealt with, and it was gone. He shouted and yelled and punched people in the face. He didn't just stand there and _flinch_. At _Ford_.

The time it had taken to rebuild their trust flashed into his mind. He suddenly wondered if all that hard work had been broken in a single defining moment by AUFord's wretched idiocy. And it scared Ford more than anything his broken mind could ever conjure.

The silence was broken by a loud explosion that blew a ways behind them.

If it wasn't for AUFord the two twins would have stood there shocked, and let the impending chaos consume them. AUFord was stunned by his counterpart's reaction, but the two brothers just stood there. Yet while he was still filled with rage, he balked at the guilty recognition that maybe he'd been out of place. He looked between the twins, confused at what had just happened. He recognized that something deeper had struck a chord, but in that moment he was more worried about being blown to peices.

"We need to leave," he mumbled.

Neither of the brothers moved. AUFord sighed and then took his 'not' brother's arm, pressing forward, ignoring the fear that flashed across Stan's eyes.

Ford watched as they moved. He felt like ripping off AUFord's head, but when Stanley quietly followed and Ford realized he didn't want his brother out of his sight he came too. He didn't want to do anything more to upset Stan because immediantly he recognized that something needed to be fixed. But AUFord carried on anyways and somehow everything was okay, but it wasn't. It wasn't alright, but Ford couldn't speak, he couldn't move, he couldn't do a thing except trail behind the fast receding figures infront of him.

Too much was being put off. Stan needed medical attention. He needed sleep. AUFord desperately needed to get his mind in order. The creature's self indulgent nature was bleeding into him, and he was having a hard time recognizing that it wasn't the Stanley in his grip that he wanted to left hook. Ford needed a moment. He needed to just sit. To stand next to Stanley and let his thoughts flow away as his brother assured him life wasn't a dream.

But instead they all raced to the hangar. It wasn't far, but as they got closer many twisted bodies of the small creatures from before lay scattered on the ground. They reached the dock filled with dozens and dozens of ships taking flight. The little slime devils still plunged from the ceiling above - using their last breaths to attack the fleeing slaves that had regained some semblance of their sanity.

The escaped prisoners were heading for many of the escape pods and other ships with easier control systrms. But AUFord led them to a more prestigious looking one. Something a little bigger. A little sleeker. They made a break for it.

And then Stanley crashed out of AUFord's grip as he himself got shoved roughly to the floor. Ford looked at one of the alien slavers infront of him. Its skin was still reacting with the air but despite slowly melting alive it still stuck firm in its efforts to stop them from leaving.

Ford couldn't move as it screamed in his face and punched him to the floor. The Fords scrambled to their feet in a daze while the thing grabbed Stanley by the front of his shirt, holding out its knife.

AUFord was aware of the psychic angst that flowed past the creature, and realized it was acting from a personal anger towards Stan. If they hadn't been fearful for their lives, he would have found it fascinating.

Ford watched his brother being attacked, and without a second thought he lept forward, disarming the creature and shoving it away. It screeched behind him, and then he found himself dragged to the floor as the creature lurched past his head. A gun blast zoomed over him and landed itself in the thing's chest.

Ford turned and saw AUFord lowering his blastor. Then he looked to his side and saw Stanley releasing his arm from his grip. He didn't know what to think of his brother's sudden save, especially in the condition he knew his mind must've been.

But Stanley didn't want to be scared. He didn't want to be afraid. Not after he'd found his brother. So when he'd sense Ford in danger, he'd acted without thinking - dragging him out of harms way. That was how he liked it. He didn't need to think. Not with his brother around.

He knew what thoughts might be invading Ford's mind, so despite feeling incredibly hollow inside, he gave a soft smirk.

"I'd never leave ya hangin' Sixer,"

Ford was over joyed. He didn't know whether to laugh, or to cry. But instead he reached out a tentative hand, unsure of himself. Stan's arm shot out and firmly clasped Ford's six fingered grip as if to prove he wouldn't shift away.

Ford pulled them both to their feet, aware of how much Stan was allowing himself to tremble now. As if from a long delayed reaction, Stan's face grew pale. He shook and finally succumbed to sharp, labored breaths. But Ford knew he was going to be okay because somehow it was just so much better than the fearful silence he'd resigned himself to before.

"Excuse me you two. But we have a problem," AUFord pointed up and Ford followed his gaze. "They're attacking the hangar door's entrance system. They're all converging on the controls. At this rate they're going to block the exit, making it impossible to fly out of here,"

Ford closed his eyes. He just wanted to leave already.

"Well isn't that just _dandy_ ," Stan's voice came out in a low hiss.

Ford jerked to look at his brother, surprised by the sudden venom.

"I mean, can't we for just one flyin' flippin' _piggin' moment_ think about how _dandy_ and rust chuggin' great that is? I swear, one more second and I'm gonna _sock you_ AUFord. Now get out your mold spittin' _blaster_ \- get up that freaka nature _height_ \- and run up those good for notthin', hog swallowin', two-bit, frumpy, queen-faced, slime ridden, dead meat, berry lovin' _things_ ,"

Ford's eyes widened, sure Stan had lost it.

"Excuse me?" AUFord was looking at him in surprise.

"You heard me. Go! Get up there and blast the things! I want _outta_ here. Sixer get your _rugged seaman coat_ in that ship, and use your _multiple appendages_ to move that rusty bucket of _wormwood scraps_! We'll make it like it is. I ain't wastin' one more second on this two time togglin', freight _freak show_ just to get my self blown to black bloody _berry_ _peices_ of chewed up candy sniveling _gum drops_!"

Ford didn't think he'd ever seen Stan like this. His face was flush and he was yelling up curses like a drunk kindergarten teacher. Yet beneath the crazy he started getting an idea of what he meant.

He looked at AUFord who was also starting to make sense of things.

"That uh - um. Yeah. Okay. If you've got the ship then - yeah," AUFord raised an eyebrow at his counterpart as if he could find some explanation there.

But Ford was still looking at Stan just as confused.

"Then what are you waiting for? Get your air licking, sky smelling self over there! We'll catch you on the street spittin' way out!"

AUFord made his way over to a ladder on the far side of the hangar, casting confused glances over his shoulder. Ford looked at Stan still bewildered.

"Don't you have a peice of hog muffin catipilar junk to fly?" Stan said, turning to him.

Ford nodded his head anxiously, unsure if Stanley caught the jester, and the two of them made it the rest of the way to the ship. Ford found the door and opened it, offering a hand. His brother paused for a moment and then gave the hull of the thing one good _kick_. It echoed against the metal and then he stepped inside.

Ford was at a loss for words. Either Stan was going crazy or ... or he was going insane because Ford just didn't know. Even as they stepped past the cargo hold, and entered the ships contol room, Stan was still mumbling under his breath with incoherent, rediculous, ... curses? Could he even call it that?

"Stupid water bed lovin' ally of the living _D rated movie_. This isn't some scoundrel's black and white master peice. I am a _friggin' RAINBOW_!"

Ford cringed at the last out burst. He led Stan to a seat and put a soft hand to his shoulder.

"A-are you ok-okay ... ?"

Stan grew quiet at his touch. After a long moment Ford saw him put a hand over his face and his shoulders shook. Ford's eyes grew wide. Was Stan ... crying?

And then Stan's hand went up, running the fingers through his hair. He looked up at Ford with a wide smile and Ford realized he wasn't crying. No ... he was _laughing_.

"Hahaha! I'm peachy Sixer! Just peachy!" He clutched his sides and doubled over cackling. Ford gave him a moment, more confused than ever. Stan bobbed up and down, taking his time, riding out the joy bubbling through him out of nowhere. After a while the noise died away, but he was still smiling huge.

"Oh, wow. Yeah I'm fine. I'm sorry. I just - ," he chuckled. "I just _really_ needed that. Oh, boy," another chuckle. "But hey. Shouldn't you be flying this thing?"

Ford searched his face, still bewildered. He was relived that Stan seemed to be feeling okay, but it had still been such a sudden and strange turn in attitude.

"Ford? Earth to Ford?"

Ford shook his head, smiling. That was Stanley for him. His brother always came out on top.

He squeezed Stan's shoulder and then stepped up to the pilot's seat. Behind him Stanley nodded.

"That's more like it,"

Ford smiled despite himself.

Finally he turned to looked at the panel infront of him. He whistled. This was a little more complicated than he'd thought. But it didn't matter. He worked his way through the confusion. After a few long minutes he finally got the thing started, and everything after that came a little easier.

The engines roared to life, and the large ship floated into the air.

Stan sat behind him with a proud, wistful smile for his brother. He gave a small whoop of encouragement as Ford got a better handle on the steering. But if he was being honest with himself, his mind was somewhere else. He was focusing too hard on _not_ noticing the sticky liquid that dribbled across his left hand. He felt a drop drip to the floor. He knew he'd been leaving a long trail behind him for a while now, and had been doing everything he could to draw his brother's attention away from it.

There wasn't anything any of them could do. Not yet.

Another wave of pain pulsed through his shoulder. He forced himself to smile through it. But then he realized he didn't need to pretend because something about the pain actually amused him, though he could fathom why.

"Ford. Hey Ford," he leaned out of his chair and pointed with his right hand. "Over there. A new creature for your journal. We'll call it the elusive six fingered ape. Yeah?"

Ford rolled his eyes, but smiled none the less. He followed Stan's finger and finally found what he'd been looking for. It seemed his eyes were doing better because high up on a metal beam was AUFord. He was busy fighting off hundreds of the creatures with his blastor, while simultaneously trying to fix the hangar door so they could all leave. He wasn't doing so well.

Another pulsing throb had Stan biting his lip. He took his hand and formed a gun.

"This thing have lasers? We could catch ourselves a monkey. Maybe do some taxidermy?"

Though a bit morbid, Ford knew what Stan was getting at. He quickly looked around for the ships defense systems. He pressed a button and some more controls appeared.

Stan pretended to fire his 'gun'.

"Pew,"

And then he sat back, not bothering to look out the window anymore. Too focused on not focusing.

Ford focused too. He looked through his screens and the ship's front window, aiming at the many creatures surrounding AUFord.

The entire ship rocked slightly at the blast, and a giant chunk of the station's metal work was suddenly curled on itself in ruin. But AUFord was relieved. He finally knocked the last of the dying creatures off and worked on the small panel infront of him.

They were running out of time. He could smell the smoke from the many bodies blowing up prematurely. He bypassed the error presented by the extensive damage already done to the structure of the door, and instead forced the gears to turn anyways. A great purple pentagon flashed across the screen. It warned against an impending malfunction that was most likely going to lead to an explosion. AUFord didn't care. The whole place was going up in smoke soon anyways.

Finally he saw the blue circle he'd been looking for. Relief flooded him, but he had to remind himself he wasn't out of the woods yet. He turned around and waved his arms at the twins.

Back at the ship Ford fumbled over his controls.

"I-I-I don't th-think I - ,"

Stan watched his brother in concern. Then he looked out to see AUFord's blurry figure with his arms raised. The door to space was finally opened, but the station was starting to quake with violent shivers.

"I-I-I think th-that - We - we might have t-to l-leave - ," Ford ran a tense six fingered hand through his hair.

Stan knew what Ford was thinking. They might have to leave AUFord behind.

For a moment he entertained the idea. It wouldn't be all bad. Stan got the he feeling AUFord didn't much like being around him, and honestly the feelings were a bit reciprocated. If they left him, it wouldn't be cold blooded murder or anything. Just an unfortunate side affect of the circumstances.

But then Stanley looked at Ford and his anxiousness. He knew Ford wasn't too fond of AUFord either. Not after ... earlier.

He pushed those thoughts out of his mind.

But if they left him Stan knew it would tear at his brother. He knew that even if he didn't care much about that now, that later on AUFord might become another fixture in Ford's nightmares.

Stan sighed, rolling his eyes.

"Alright, give me a second Sixer. Twist the thing to the back. I got this,"

He pushed himself out of his chair and was suddenly overcome with how utterly tired he was. Ford didn't notice Stan's slight stumble as he payed attention to not crashing while they turned. Stanley collected himself, forcing his body to go just a little bit further.

He went to the cargo hold and looked around for some sort of button to open the door in the back. He'd figured that maybe it was like one of those army planes that you'd let entire trucks board. That maybe the button would be big and obvious and hanging in the middle of the room. He was however, very much mistaken. It was by sheer chance that his eye caught sight of glowing blue button on the far side of the wall - hidden behind some random boxes. He pushed it and watched more light filter in as the ramp lowered, while also admiring that this dimension had boxes. Now all they needed to prove their competency was ducktape.

AUFord stood waiting anxiously. When he saw the ship turning, his heart nearly skipped a beat as he assumed they might leave with out him. But then the ramp came down and there was Stanley smiling smugly, and for some reason it was both blissfully welcoming and incredibly annoying at the same time.

A few last creatures came his way, a couple big ones too, not just the small things from the ceiling. AUFord pointed his blaster at them, backing up and looking over his shoulder.

Stanley scanned the distance between AUFord and the ship and wondered if his eyes were betraying him or if AUFord really wouldn't be able to just walk on.

"Jump!" He called out.

AUFord paled.

"What? Are you crazy?"

Stanley's smile widened as if to confirm. AUFord was filled with an even greater disliking for his 'not' brother - that was also somehow glossed over with a sly feeling of endearment. Stanley Pines was a magician that worked dark magic on the Fords' minds.

AUFord looked at the ground below dubiously. Then he stared at the approaching creatures, and finally at Stanley. He gulped and realized he didn't have much of a choice.

Stanley could sense AUFord's indescion. He knew he wasn't his Ford. He knew his Ford was right inside. Safe and steering the ship. But he couldn't keep himself from feeling for false Ford either. He knew that somewhere out there was another Stanley. A Stanley he knew, that desperately wanted his brother back. He didn't know how he knew, but he did.

And despite whatever AUFord had put him through back in the hallway, he knew he couldn't hold it too much against him either. It was mostly his fault anyways.

So to AUFord's surprise Stanley dropped his smile for just that one moment to look at him seriously. He held out his right hand to him.

"You got this Sixer," he called out.

AUFord was a bit thrown off, but didn't question it when a knife sliced his way. He took a deep breath in. Then he jumped forward, crossing the gap with surprising ease. He landed in the ship, staring at Stan's smiling face.

Stanley walked over and pressed the glowing red button below the blue. The ramp started to close.

"I got him!" Stan yelled up to the Ford. Then turning towards AUFord he thumped his back. "Told ya you could do it," 

AUFord smiled a little then smacked Stan on the back too. Hard.

"Don't call me Sixer,"

Stan doubled over, but came up smiling wide at AUFord.

AUFord walked away amused at Stan's antics. He headed up to he front and took a seat by his counterpart. Together they went over the controls.

As soon as AUFord's back was turned, Stan's smiled dropped - quickly replaced by a grimance of pain. He brought a hand to his left side, feeling the blood trickle from his body. He'd long since turned cold, and it was through sheer force of will that he hadn't gone into shock. He was going to pass out soon. He knew he was. But he couldn't let himself. Not yet. There was still too much to do. Too much to say.

He didn't want to leave the tension hanging in the air as it was. Because then they would talk about it. Then he'd be forced to think about everything that'd had happened. Then he be forced to relive that moment from ages ago all over again, and this time he wouldn't be able to escape it by pinching himself to come out of his dream. This time it'd be a living nightmare, and as much as he'd hate to admit, he'd have to relive the fear of his brother that that moment had instilled deep inside him.

He felt the ship slip into the beginnings of hyperdrive. Almost as if on cue the station blew up behind them.

As they blasted away on the waves of the explosion, the entire ship rocked violently. Stan bounced around until he hurried up to the front and buckled in.

They all held on, tense - waiting to see if they'd make it. Aprehension clung to the air. Turbulence shook the ships hull and what seemed like an eternity passed before they straightened out and flew sturdy.

A round of sighs echoed in the silence.

The pain in Stan's shoulder burned with renewed heat that he had thought left ages ago.

The Fords sat in the front quietly, but Stanley knew he needed to say something. He wasn't sure if the nerds up there could feel it, but what happened next would be crucial. The next words that were spoken, the way it was phrased, the atmosphere. Or even if no one said anything at all. But he couldn't let that happen.

He leaned forward, smiling into the Fords faces. They both stared at him, curious.

He started out in a whisper.

"Pines, Pines, Pines, Pines," he looked at them expectant, eyebrows raised.

Ford smiled at him and joined the chant, his voice for once finally not wavering - if a little on the quiet side. 

"Pines, Pines, Pines, Pines!" Stanley made up for his brother plenty as his voice rose.

AUFord couldn't help himself. The mood was infectious.

The three of them sat there chanting. "PINES, PINES, PINES, PINES!" happily. They all pumped their fists.

"PINES, PINES, PINES, PINES!"

Stanley passed out.


	11. Chapter 11

The sweet embrace of unconciousness couldn't hold him for long. Soon he was aware of Ford by his side. He felt himself lifted off the ground. He tried to get his feet under himself to help walk, but he was so tired.

Ford deposited him against the wall in the cargo hold, then stood and looked around. He needed medical supplies. Ford did a double take when AUFord stepped in.

"Auto pilot," he explained. Then held out a large blue container covered in various circles. "Level 5 command class space ships are known _specifically_ for their aid kits,"

Ford stared from it to AUFord.

"Th-thank you," He let out.

AUFord handed it over.

"You're welcome,"

He turned and walked away.

Ford blinked, then got to work. He jumbled through the bin, trying to make sense of what was inside. There was a lot of unfamiliar tools, but he found some bandages and even recognized bottles and wipes with anti-bacterial ingredients.

He turned to Stanley to assess his wounds. It was hard to see under the blood, and slime. He helped Stan take off his coat - his brother groaning slightly but not protesting. When he finally pulled away the last of his sleeve, his eyes widened. It was worse than he'd thought.

Three long gashes trailed down to his wrist, and another even deeper cut decorated his forearm at an almost perpendicular angle from the rest. Ford took a further look and realized he'd need to take his shirt off too.

Ford was careful to not jostle Stan's arm too much as he lifted the peice of clothing over his head. His shoulder was an alarming shade of red, the entire area inflamed. Ford paled when he saw how close a knife sized cut was to his heart.

" _Stanley,_ " he hissed under his breath.

Stan didn't bother to respond. He sat still as Ford tried to gently clean the blood away. He was lulled by the rythmic motions of his brother's hands.

Ford applied some liquid onto his skin and it stung, but Stan never winced. He simply squeezed his eyes with the knowledge that it could be worse. Much worse.

Stan sat there and let himself drift. He focused on his brother's movements and let everything slip away. It was better than sleep because this time he didn't have to worry about nightmares haunting him. Instead it was just the two of them, flying across the blackness of space. With his eyes closed he shut everything off and let the white noise fill his mind. It was the peace he'd been desperately waiting for, and he relished every moment.

Ford realized Stan needed stitches. He fumbled through the bin, wondering what to do. He wasn't a medical doctor. He didn't know if his shaking fingers could handle running a needle through his brother's skin. And then he saw what he'd been looking for. It was some kind of liquid adhesive. He sprayed a drop onto his finger and it came out like silly string, then condensed and hardened into a durable patch.

He sighed in relief. Lately he'd found that alien technology was almost always a thousand times more convenient.

Ford ran the metal can back and forth all down his arm with delicate precision, going back up and covering each bloody tear in turn. Gently he raised Stan's arm and repeated on the shorter gash.

Ford kept looking at Stan's face. Despite the heavy wounds, Stan looked peaceful. It made him uneasy, and a little guilty too. If roles were reversed he didn't think he could take as much physical abuse so quietly. It reminded him of when they were kids. Ford's scraped knees would always follow with restrained tears and bitter yelps of pain. But Stan never faltered. He'd sit quietly while their mom patched them up, Ford always watching in awe at how his twin could stay so still.

Normally it wouldn't matter so much. They'd been in the portal long enough that this wasn't the first injury either had gotten. But it was bordering on one of the worst so far. Yet they were alive, and Stan seemed mostly okay, so he should be counting them lucky.

But he couldn't get that pitiful sound Stan had made earlier out of his head. The feeling of something being so very wrong still lingered in his chest. Stan wasn't okay. He couldn't be. He shouldn't be. Ford wanted to help. He wanted to fix things. But how could he when he didn't even know what the problem was? He could guess, but he knew it was something they needed to work out together.

He decided to stay silent for now. Stan looked so calm. So at ease with his brother by his side. Ford didn't want to ruin that. Whatever it was could wait. Stanley needed rest, and Ford wasn't about to distract him from it.

Ford started wrapping Stan's shoulder in restrictive bandages. He didn't think it was broken, but the extra padding would help keep everything snug and protected. The entire area was sure to malform into dark nasty colors over the next few days.

He looked around and noticed some other marks that would turned purple and blue later on, but he wasn't sure what he could do with those. Maybe some sort of ointment. But the strange scribbling on some of the bottles left even _his_ mind reeling. He'd have to come back and see what he could learn about this other dimension's medical supplies. But for now he put everything away.

When he finished he sat there infront of Stanley, still kneeling on the ground, taking a look at his work. He hoped he'd done well enough. Stanley seemed fine, but as each moment passed, he wasn't sure how much he could trust the continuous genial expression on his brother's face.

He saw other old wounds on his skin. He'd seen them before. Nothing new. It just reminded him of the ten years they spent apart. Ford had his own scars from that time. Whether it was the slip of a butter knife during a paticular sleepless night, or more nefarious reasons - they both had past wounds. They'd talked about it a little. Never in too much detail. It was behind them they reasoned. Why drag up things that didn't matter anymore? Why mull over ghosts that weren't haunting them?

He saw the burn on his other shoulder of course. It was always there. Just like Stan's eyes. Both a reminder of Ford's incompetence. He tried not to let it get to him. Most times he forgot it even existed.

Then Ford glimpsed a strange shape forming on Stanley's chin. He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes confused. A tender red mark was beggining to show. It was in the first stages of discoloration, and he knew that in another hour or two Stan would have a purple red splotch across his jaw. But for now Ford could see specific indents - though they were quickly fading against the growing bruise.

It wasn't like his shoulder. Through the swelling he had made out three indents from the alien's punch. And it wasn't like other bruises he'd seen on Stan either. When his charm turned sour and he angered a guy into giving him a right hook. No, this one was different. It was ... five indents. Five knuckle marks. Not four. Not three. Five.

Ford looked down at his own hands. He made a gentle fist and slowly touched each of his five knuckles. Then he dropped his hands and looked away, eyes darkening.

AUFord.

Stan took in a deep breath and opened a bleary eye. Ford wasn't sure how much his brother was seeing. He felt like half the time he bothered to raise his lids at all was mostly out of habit.

"You done Sixer?" He mumbled.

Ford nodded his head.

"Mm,"

Stan sat up a little more. Ford looked around. There wasn't any pillows or blankets. Nothing to make a decent bed.

"You look tired," Stan yawned, not opening his eyes. "You should ... get some sleep ... or somethin'," he drooped a little, as if nodding off.

Ford wasn't tired. He didn't think he looked tired either. He didn't even think Stan knew how he looked at all. But he took the invitation and came up closer to Stanley by the wall.

Suddenly for one disheartening moment he thought he felt Stan tense. His mind went into overdrive. Had he been wrong? Did Stan want him to go away? Should he leave?

And then Stan came in closer and let his head fall onto his brother. A few seconds later and he was sleeping soundly - rythmic breaths flowing in and out of his lungs.

Ford's body relaxed. He stared at Stan, now sound asleep.

He felt the usual pang in his chest. He wished he wasn't so afraid. He wished his brother wasn't so afraid. He wished things like this didn't happen when he'd have to skirt around his brother making sure not to spook him.

But he deserved it. He deserved this and plenty more after what he'd done to Stan's eyes.

What he _didn't_ deserve, was his brother's undying loyalty. What he _didn't_ deserve was the firm hand on his shoulder every time reality became too much.

He was full of guilt from everything he'd ever put his brother through. From the moment he'd turned his back on him when he'd been kicked out of the house. From that moment on every bad thing that happened to him was his fault. Whatever trouble he'd gotten into during their ten years of estrangement. And then he'd gotten them landed in the portal. And then he'd let those malicious eyes enter his mind. Had allowed them to turn him against his brother.

He didn't care how many times Stanley said he forgave him. He didn't care how many times he'd said he didn't want to hear it anymore. Didn't care how many times he'd threatened to punch him square in the jaw - right then, right there - if he didn't stop apologizing. He was still responsible for making his brother feel small and weak and pathetic.

Stan wasn't though. Ford knew this. His brother took on monsters almost every other week. Things that made Ford cower, he ran up and gave a knuckle sandwich. He was so much more capable than Ford could ever dream to be.

But he knew how Stanley felt. He knew about the doubts and fears that plagued his brother's mind. He knew it from the many times he'd confided those concerns with Ford. He knew it in the many instances of hesitancy that only Ford knew to look for. He knew it in the strange changes of behavior so subtle only Ford could catch.

And it ripped him to peices. It tore at his heart to think that Stan could be brought done by those kind of foolish doubts because of _him_. Because of Ford. Because of his own brother.

Yet the selfish part of Ford wished Stan would never come free of those doubts. He hated himself for it, but he never wanted him to fully realize how great he could actually be on his own.

Because he was scared that he'd leave him. He was frightened that Stan would realize Ford had only been holding him back for so long, and that he'd finally realize he didn't need his brother. That in fact he was better off _without_ him.

He hated feeling that way, but knew he'd never stop. He didn't think he could. Not till Stan stopped shivering st his sudden touch. Not till Stan stopped lamenting over how useless he was. How much Ford didn't need him.

Not until he realized Ford was the useless one. Not until he realized Ford was the pathetic one. Not until he understood that Ford wasn't by his side because he pitied him, but because he relied on his strength.

Which was why it was so aweful when he saw his brother being weak.

He clenched his fists.

He knew it shouldn't disturb him so much. No one could be strong all the time. It wasn't healthy.

But when he'd heard that noise come out of Stan's mouth.

AUFord.

He wanted to attack his other self for being so ... so _stupid_.

He couldn't stop thinking about the tension between his brother and his other self. He couldn't stop thinking about the way Stan cowered to him. He couldn't get the image out of his mind, and he couldn't stop dwelling on how long he'd been oblivious in his insanity while Stan was left alone with a man who made him recoil.

It was sickening, and yet he knew it was still all his fault. He wanted to protect Stan from the things he couldn't just punch away. After everything Stan did for him, he at least could do that much.

But how was he supposed to protect his brother from himself? From Ford?

He knew he couldn't blame AUFord too harshly. He couldn't possibly have guessed what his attacks would do to Stan's psyche.

But that didn't mean he had to let him hurt his brother again.

He tightened his jaw and swore to himself right then and there that if AUFord ever got to Stan, he'd have his own five knuckled indent to deal with. And he'd make sure it showed. That if AUFord so much as looked at Stanley wrong ... Because the churning knot in the pit of his gut told him that even a wrong look could do some harm.

Ford sighed deeply.

Stan roused besides him, and he was careful to keep him undisturbed.

It was pathetic how much guilt and how much shame he festered. In the end he tried to push it all out of his mind.

He felt Stan besides him and tried to focus on the here and now. He let Stan ground him to reality. He closed his eyes, not sure if he would actually fall asleep, but instead put all his efforts to keep his brother's nightmares at bay.


	12. Chapter 12

He woke to find AUFord staring down at him. 

"Sorry to bother you," He whispered, eyeing Stan.

Ford blinked in confusion. He looked up at him and noticed the creases of worry on his counterpart's face.

"W-wh - ?" He breathed in, shifting.

Stan stirred besides him.

"Don't need to - wake him up. Just - just some turbulence is all. I - I um ... could just use your help at the controls. If you wouldn't mind. Well I mean. We're going to crash if you don't, so ... ," AUFord stood, looking to the front concerned.

Ford maneuvered himself away from Stan, careful not to disturb him. He followed AUFord and took his seat at the steering.

They were being hit by some sort of energy wave that was moving fast. Ford looked at the panel, unsure of what to do. He gave AUFord a questioning look.

"Oh, um. Just sort of - ride it out? I think? Where's the um ... stabilizer ... button?"

Ford could see why he'd called him up. He was looking around, at a loss for what to do. He kept touched the dashboard then let his hand slip, almost in dissapointment.

Ford took a moment to think.

Ride it out? Possibly. Stabalize? Maybe that'll work.

He turned off what he assumed to be auto pilot, then adjusted their speed. It was less of a button and more a thruster, but eventually they evened out. Once caught up in, what he assumed to be a solar flair, they picked up speed significantly. The engines didn't have to work nearly as hard, and he let up on their exceleration.

It was kind of like a car when he thought about it. They were on 'cruz control', and when the 'traffic' picked up around them, they experianced some difficulties.

The tension noticeably lessened in AUFord.

"Thanks," he smiled weakly. "I um ... wasn't thinking straight is all. Still need to get my thoughts together ... Doing better though," he turned and looked out the window.

Ford yawned.

"H-how long ... were - were we ... Was I ... asleep?"

AUFord looked over at him, then out the window.

"Couple of hours. Six - Six and half, seven? It's been quiet," 

Ford rubbed his eyes with a hand. He felt a little more rested, so it made sense. He looked behind him, but he couldn't really see Stanley in the cargo hold through the doorway. He turned back and focused on the ever stretching blackness in front of them. Even admired some of the colors from the energy surrounding the ship.

"So I couldn't help but notice. You've got your self a pretty nasty stutter there. Is that reminiscent of your dimension? Or maybe just ... something else I guess?"

"Portal," was the curt reply.

"Right," AUFord nodded his head. "Right ... ,"

Ford watched a dazzling energy blast pass by. It made them bounce and he adjusted their speed.

"Look. About ealier. I ... wanted to apologize. A little. I was being rude. I hadn't expected a reaction like ... like _that_. But it was still rude of me,"

Ford didn't say anything for a while.

" ... Alright,"

AUFORD nodded.

"I - ,"

Ford's grip tightened on the steering.

"But never again," His voice was steel. He looked over to AUFord with a hardened gaze. "Ever," he growled.

AUFord looked at him a little shocked. Ford never wavered. AUFord realized just how intimidating his counterpart really was. The shy demeanor and quiet, stumbled words. It all detracted from the soft look of murder in the man's eyes and AUFord found himself quickly nodding.

"Okay he agreed," he gulped then looked away. " ... right,"

Ford relented, then turned back to the window, face as cordial as before. He focused on flying. They were silent for a long time.

***

"So wait. Was it the toffee peanuts, or the over abundance of fructose corn syrup?"

"Both,"

"That stuff can't be healthy for you. One of these days they'll come out with it. Just like the fake moon landing,"

"Hardly. Nothing b-but a conspiracy,"

"The landing or the fructose?"

"Landing. It happened. Pro-probably,"

"Yet doubt still lingers,"

"Meh,"

"What about Atlantis?"

Ford made a so-so gesture.

"Theories. Though ... ex-exteremely plausible,"

"See that's what I figured too. But when I read up on stories from the Atlantic, I didn't really see much,"

"North,"

"What like Greenland?"

"Maybe,"

"Alright. Whats your opinion on - just core impressions here - dungeons dungeons and more dungeons?"

Ford smiled wide.

"With pen and paper, shield and sword - ,"

"Our quest shall be our sweet reward!"

They laughed, basking in the knowledge that they finally found someone who liked the game as much as they did.

"You two are such nerds,"

The two Fords turned around to see a bleary eyed Stanley walk in.

"What is this - a nerd convention? Get a life,"

Ford rolled his eyes and AUFord.

"H-have a life,"

"Yeah. It's you who hasn't lived. I bet you've never even played Dungeons, dungeons, and more dungeons,"

"Don't need to, to know it's for nerds like you two," Stan stumbled into his seat behind them. "How long was I out?"

Ford shrugged his shoulders at his counterpart, and they both checked the time.

"How l-long have we been at th-this?"

"Few hours I think,"

"E-eight - ish,"

"Yeah, but the two of you were asleep for a while before that,"

"Yeah?" Stan said with a yawn. "You get some sleep then Sixer? Good couple hours at least, right?"

"Mm. Six - ish,"

"Great. Well I slept like a log,"

"S-snored like one t-too,"

AUFord smiled. Stan rolled his eyes.

"Right. Because you two don't snore,"

"Well I sure don't,"

"Don't fool youself,"

"I don't,"

"Well you will. Mark my words. You will,"

"Is that supposed to be some kind of threat?"

"Makes no s-sense,"

"Who are you to judge what makes, or doesn't make sense? I can make as much sense as I want to. I'm the king of sense! Ultimate power in my command of senses! Senseness. Sensory ... I don't know. Still groggy," he rubbed a hand on the back of his kneck.

"How are you feeling Stanley Pines?"

Stan grunted.

"Tired,"

"S-still?"

"You just got 15 hours of sleep,"

"Yeah, well so what? Bah! Everything hurts. Hey. We got food anywhere? My stomach is yellin' at me,"

Ford got up.

"Food. R-right," His stomach was growling too.

"So uh, how long are we gonna be floatin' through space still anyways?"

Ford made his way to the cargo hold.

"Don't know. The closest habital planet is still lightyears away. This ship isn't meant for long distance travel. Just from the ground to a nearby floating station,"

"Even when we're in hydrive?"

"Hyperdrive? That doesn't exist,"

"What? Of course it does. What do call what we're doing right now?"

The voices faded as he got towards the back of the hold. He started shifting through boxes and examining the contents inside. There were some provisions and other tools floating around. He lifted the box with portable parishables and headed back to the front.

"Wait. So your telling me this thing runs on moondust?"

"No, of course not! That's not what I said at all,"

Ford dropped the box on the spare seat behind his.

"Food," he announced.

"Fantastic! I'm starved,"

"I should think. But anyways. I meant that the moon was merely a source for what I can only assume to be ... ,"

***

Stan was sleeping again.

They'd been cooped up on the ship for a few days now. Stan floated between consciousness. He didn't seem have any trouble with dreams. His body was most likely too tired to worry about it. Yet when he was awake he almost bounced around the cabin, getting antsy in the small quarters.

He talked and laughed and they all seemed to get along fine. And then sometimes the Fords would just sit there in the silence and let their thoughts flow by. They'd often each open up their journals and sit there writing. Things were still a little tense between them. More so when Stanley was awake, and AUFord's obvious distaste for his actions couldn't help but bleed through. But Stan didn't seem to mind, so Ford let it go. So long as his brother felt up to making jokes, he figured everything should be okay.

For now at least.

"Ss! Ow, ow, ow, ow! Watch it. Your killin' me. Yeesh,"

With the improvement in Stan's health came the urge to compain.

"I don't see why we can't just leave this on. Aren't you just pulling open the wound or somethin'?"

"Mm. I would be," Ford bent in close to take a look at Stan's arm, murmuring low. "But they're meant to be taken off," he squinted at the warped textures. "Fast acting ... they're not in the skin so," he poked at a bit of it. It came away in flakes. "I think it needs to be reapplied every few days. Like band aids ... Neosporin maybe,"

"Would you stop pokin' me? I'm not one of your little experiments. Yeesh, I'm still sore all over,"

"S-sorry," he looked up at Stan's face before going back to the arm.

Stan squeezed his eyes.

"Whatever. It's fine I guess. Not your fault,"

"Mm,"

Ford took up a tool and concentrated, focusing on the lined gash down his arm.

"So what? Just wait here till we find a planet? Any idea - ow! Ow, ow, ow, ow!"

Ford dropped Stan's arm completely.

"S-s-sorry!"

Stan gritted his teeth.

"Quit apologizing poindexter! Just get it over with. I'm done with this,"

Ford pursed his lips.

"Y-y-you sh-should - should d-do it,"

"I can't genius. Now get it over with,"

"I-I-I um,"

"You really want me to have a go? Cause I'll rip them off if you really want me to. I'll rip nice and quick and I won't even be looking. Is that what you want?"

"N-no. Of c-course n-n-not,"

Stan huffed.

"Then just get this over with," he held out his arm.

"R-r-right,"

Ford cautiously took Stan's arm again. He took the tool he'd been using. He had, in fact, come back to the medical supplies. AUFord had helped him sort through the box, and between the two of them they'd gotten a pretty good idea what most of it was.

The day before when Stan complained his arm ached more than usual he'd taken a look. The once vibrant blue patch had turned a dull grey. It was loosening. And what was more, it started to get infected as it stored up wandering germs. They'd found something that was used to cut away the substance without opening back up the wound. But it was a laser, and it took a steady hand to maneuver.

Right then Ford's hands were shaking. He lowered them again.

"M-maybe A-A-AUFord - ,"

"Can it Sixer - ,"

"B-b-but,"

"Look at me,"

"S-s-sta - ,"

"Are you lookin' or not?"

He looked at Stan's face and nodded his head. Stan gazed back.

"I trust you. Alright? I trust you Stanford. You got this,"

Ford looked at his brother for a long time. Stan sighed.

"Don't make big deal out of it, alright?"

Ford frowned then sat back.

"N-no. I ... a-alright. Here ... here we go,"

He went back to Stan's arm. As he led the laser carefully down he could see Stanley gritting his teeth. It made him nervous and he was certain that a painful shout would leave Stan's lips at any moment. But his brother stayed stubborn and not a sound escaped. Soon Ford was onto the next line then the next. Then the smaller one.

When it was all over he breathed an audible sigh of relief, putting the tool down for the last time.

Stan leaned against the wall, his right hand on his forehead as he looked away.

"See? I told you," He muttered.

Ford didn't bother to respond. The whole thing had been far too stressful. He started reapplying the patch up and down Stan's wound. It was cool to the touch and he saw Stan visibly relaxed.

"I-I um. I-I think it - it'll scar,"

Stan thought about this.

"How much you think?"

"A-a lot,"

Out of nowhere Stan flashed a wide grin.

"Fantastic! Now I've got more war wounds. With a crazy great story ta-boot,"

"Er ... I d-don't th-think,"

"Relax Sixer. It's all good. It's all about the leader of a slave empire that I _single handedly_ took out with my _bare hands_. I have to tell you it sometime. It was great. I was truly amazing. Wasn't I AUFord? You were there,"

Ford noticed AUFord standing behind him. He turned around.

"Sorry Stanley. I wasn't watching you. I was busy trapped in the thing's mind," he walked passed and headed for the boxes.

"Well than I'll have to tell you about it too. Alright guys. So there I was - ,"

"Perhaps you could save your story for just a while longer. I'm getting hungry. Anybody else for some food?"

"Yeah alright. I guess I could eat," Stan's growling stomach betrayed him.

They got everything together than headed to the front. They could've eaten in the back, and it would've kept the mess down, but between the three of them the cargo hold had become a place of quiet and privacy, while the front was for talking and conversing amicably.

"Alright, so there I was. Four alien creatures all closing in, the great disgusting leader sitting there behind them all. When wham! I get thrown back, knocking against the wall. So I - ,"

The two Fords listened to Stan's story. With each word Ford wasn't sure if he should cheer, or balk at the ease that Stan described another one of his scraps. He supposed that if Stan made light of it, that it wasn't too big of a deal. But that didn't make fixing his wounds any less agreeable.

"I was near deaf for a while there. Couldn't hear a thing - ,"

"Were you? I hadn't noticed,"

"I was, now shh. I'm telling my story. So any ways. One came at me, but I'm too quick. I bash it's head in then wham! I bash in the other's head. Then suddenly I'm flown across the room - straight into the slime leader himself - ,"

"Wait. When did you get your scratches?"

"Oh yeah. Well I mean they caught me. With their arms. Of course. I ... so I grabbed their knife and I kill I another one - ,"

"Wait. That only leaves one left,"

"Yeah, so what? So it claws at my arm, and then it throws me backward and I - ,"

"But that doesn't make sense. When I came to, there were still two creatures out of the four,"

"Stop interupting me! I'm trying to make it better,"

"Better? It's completely inaccurate! How is that better?"

"It's way more interesting this way,"

"You're leaving out vital details of the story!"

"Fine you wanna hear about all the blood, and guts and slime?"

"Well if it's pertinate,"

"What does that even mean?"

"What, pertinent?

"I don't even think I care, you nerd,"

Ford sat silenet and listened to their bickering. He yawned, then looked out the window. The inky black darkness stretched on for miles. Millions and millions of stars filled the sky - their bright lights winking across the void.

Ford rubbed at his face with a hand.

"That's the definition of non-fiction!"

"You're being too technical,"

"Non-fiction does not mean 'the stretched truth'!"

The entire universe seemed to pulse with energy. Far away galaxies flickered with life. Their brightness defied description, and all the colors bled together in a swirl of bouncing images.

A star blinked.

Ford did a double take. His breath caught in his throat.

 _The eyes_. They were everywhere. Surrounding the ship. Encompassing the three men. Encompassing Ford. Surrounding him. Starring. Their gaze ripping into his very soul.

He couldn't breath.

It was back. The eyes were back. And this time it was worse. It was so much worse. Air refused to pass through his lungs. He couldn't move, he couldn't think.

_What do they want? Why are they starring? What do they want?!_

_Stanley_ _can't_ _see ..._

He felt a hand on his shoulder. He snatched it up, prepared to strike out.

"Ford!" Stanley was staring at him, a concerned look etched into his face.

He realized Stan had been trying to get his attention. He let his wrist go, hands shaking. Stan took them in his.

"Hey. Calm down. It's okay. It's not real," His voice was soft but sure. "It's not real. I'm here. They aren't real. It's okay, it's okay. It's not real,"

Ford turned to look out the window, unsure. The eyes were gone. He shook his head.

"N-no. No, n-no, n-no, no,"

Stan slid an arm over his shoulder.

"It's okay. It isn't real. It's not real Stanford. Just listen to my voice. Everything is gonna be alright," Stan kept repeating his soothing mantra. He sat with him, waiting for Ford to ride it out. "It's okay. It's not real. I'm real. I'm here. It's gonna be okay. Just listen to my voice. Everything's gonna be alright ... ,"

***

"Alright. Question of the day. Am I walking around in these tattered things for the rest of eternity, or does this ship have a spare set of clothes we could mink?"

"Mink. Is that even a word?"

"I don't really care ya nerd. I'm just tired of walking around in blood,"

"I-I c-can look,"

Ford got up and headed to the back and dug up some boxes. There were a lot of weapons. Mostly TNT looking supstances. No guns or knives, or really anything portable. He dug around and surprisingly found some hard hats and coats.

Command class? This looked more like a miner's ship.

Finally he scrounged up some shirts and other things. Thick protective boots and heavy gloves. The jackets looked like they'd stand up against some pretty heavy damage too. He brought it all back to the front for the other two to take a look.

"Yeah, this'll do great," Stan smiled wide. "This is some high quality junk. I dare say it's isn't even garbage,"

"Such high tastes. What have you been doing the last decade. Living it up in some castle?"

Stan's smile grew even wider, but Ford noticed the blink of an eye, a moment too long, that he paused to come up with a retort. The ever so slight strain in his face. Natural looking if Ford hadn't been so well aquainted with his genuine grins.

"Sure have. Prince Pines, at your service. The ladies loved me,"

AUFord rolled his eyes than looked at the clothes again.

Ford watched his brother carefully, but the moment had passed. He stared at AUFord, almost wishing he'd make a bigger mistake, so he could deck him.

***

They were sitting up in the front talking when suddenly Stan stood.

"Non-specific excuse!" He yelled.

Smoke went everywhere and the Fords started coughing up their lungs. When the air finally cleared, Stan was gone.

"S-stan?"

"What on earth? Where'd he go?"

Stan stepped out from the cargo hold.

"I can't believe that worked so well. These things are amazing! I'm keeping all of them,"

"All of what?" AUFord wheezed out.

Stan held out a small sphere in his hand.

Ford coughed then took it. Stan handed another one to AUFord.

"What is it?" AUFord was turning it around in his fingers.

Ford did the same.

"Smoke bombs! I thought I'd try it out. I had no idea it would work so well. I've gotta try this again sometime. You should have seen the looks on your faces,"

"Maybe we should've, because I know _you_ didn't through all that," AUFord coughed some more. "Did you really have to let one of those off in here?"

Ford and Stan coughed too.

"Hehe," Stan rubbed the back of his neck "Alright, I'll admit. Probably not one of my best ideas," then he rubbed his hands together. "But it _will_ be. Oh, it will be,"

"You sound like a maniac when you do that,"

"Oh, please. No crazier than you when you mumble off the periodic table of elements to yourself at night,"

Fords face fell at the words, but Stan was paying more attention to AUFord's stricken expression. Stan laughed.

"Did you really think I haven't heard?"

"Th-that's just a calming technique!" He sputtered. "You have no right to make fun! I'm just trying to solidify my memories is all!" He looked over to Ford, maybe expecting some support.

Ford shook his head.

"Low blow, Stanley," he mumbled.

"Come on, don't be like that Sixer,"

AUFord turned away in disgust.

"AU? Guys? Hey come on. I was just messin' around,"

***

Stan was fumbling through some more boxes again. There was actually some pretty great stuff lingering around the ship. It was just up to him to find it. Like buried treasure maybe.

This paticular box held some suspiciously smoke bomb like things, but something about their shape wasn't right. He tossed them back and kept digging.

He felt movement in the air. It was the soft whoosh of the door slowly being eased open.

He kept going through the box, wondering if it had just slid aside on its own or something.

But then he heard the light tread of footsteps, and he frowned. It was Ford. One of them at least. He assumed AU. No way would Sixer be trying so hard to stay quiet. He pretended like he didn't notice, and then smiled we he found small taffy like charges. They could come in handy later he was sure of it. Either that or he'd accidently blow them all up, but it was a risk he was willing to take.

A hand poked his back and a voice called out,

"Boo,"

He turned, then looked at AUFord with a raised eyebrow.

"What ... ? We're you trying to ... to _scare_ me?"

AUFord looked at him and his blurry outline shrugged.

"I don't know,"

He could make out AUFord's eyes scanning him up and down. He warily realized that was the way _his_ Ford looked when they were messing with some of the creatures they'd find.

"You were _testing_ me?"

He shrugged again. Stan shook his head.

"You're unbelievable,"

"You're surprisingly observant of your surroundings,"

"Here's an ovservation. Your shoes are untied," he went back to going through his box.

AUFord looked down.

"I'm not wearing laces,"

Stan snorted. _And_ _he's_ _gullible_ _too._

"Yeesh, I hope my Ford was never as bad as you,"

"First of all you have no right to judge my character, and second, we are still extremely similiar so any hopes at insulting me reflects on him too,"

"Nah. My Ford 's better,"

AUFord stepped around and looked at the things he was going through.

"I'm curious where you come to a conclusion like that,"

Stan plastered on a cheesy grin.

"Because my Ford has me," he stuck out his thumbs. " _This_ guy, makes _my_ guy, ten times better than _you_ guy," His eyes caught something at the bottom of the box. "Is that a - ! ... False alarm. Not a gun I repeat, not a gun. Eh, too bad,"

"Do you really think your overall presence has that much of an effect of your current time stream?"

Stan rolled his eyes.

"Well I don't know about _that_. But anything with me has to better, right?" He smiled wide again. "It's fact. Proved by science or whatever. Should be. In some dimension at least,"

Ford thought about this.

"Hm," he turned around and walked away.

Stan heard him mumble a question to himself.

"I wonder if my Stanley is quite as ... egotistical,"

Stan could tell AUFord meant it. Not as an accusation or even a snide remark, but as a genuine question.

Stan snorted. If Ford ever caught wind of that, they'd probably have a good laugh.

Or maybe Stan would just laugh and Ford would frown. Yeah he would probably just sit there looking depressed. Stan caught him doing that a lot lately. It was getting annoying.

He found a weird book thing in the box. He squinted at it and found some strange scribbles in another language. He thought of giving it to Ford. Maybe a puzzle would cheer his brother up.

He thought back to the other Ford's earlier statement. About the two of them being similiar. It was almost unnerving how easily AUFord took in his lies. Even the obvious jokes were taken like bitting remarks sometimes.

He shook his head. He sure was glad he'd come around when he did. Who knows what other sleazy jerk like himself could've tried to pull the wall over his brother's eyes before Stan got there?

But hey. Now Ford had him. And as much as he didn't actually believe his very _presence_ made his brother in some way _better_ \- he did belive that maybe he could keep him safer. Gnomes might've been a fun fire side story, but he suspected his brother's life hadn't exactly been all peaches and cream before he'd shown up. The mad glint in Ford's eyes even before they'd even stepped through the portal proved that. He'd said so himself.

_Stanley, you_ _don't_ _understand what_ _I'm_ _up against! What_ _I've_ _been_ _through_ _!_

But he never really talked about it. Stan didn't press. It didn't seem to matter much now, so what was the point in stressing the issue? It wasn't like he was going over every little detail of his past either.

Ug. He didn't want to think about it. He pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind.

"Oie! Fordnerds. I found something. Wanna take a look?"

He headed back to the front with the book.

***

"What are you scribbling about now?"

"Those creatures. The slave ones. AUFord has been telling me all about their history and the way they communicate and plenty of other savory details,"

"Unsavory too, I'm sure,"

"It's brilliant how his mind seemed to meld with the creature. I'm sure it had something to do with the thing dying at the same time they were connected. Like some sort of backlash,"

"So your saying I should've let it eat his brains ... Yeah I could've lived with that,"

"It wasn't ... eating his brains,"

"Whatever,"

"The sheer amount of information he was exposed to ... it's brilliant. But of course he's still having memory problems. I've been helping sort through his past. Since ours are both pretty much identical. Though we have noticed a few discrepencies. Little things like who thought what about something. Nothing big. But enough to explain a change in the our states of mind when we ended up by the portal before we fell,"

"So your saying that because I chose chocolate ice cream over cookies and cream, that I decided to jump into the portal with you?"

"Well ... maybe not exactly. But essentially yes. That's exactly what I've found,"

"Yeah, alright,"

"So anyways ... ,"

AUFord was in the cargo hold. Stan sat up front with Ford and listened to his quiet murmur. Stan's eyes were closed and he was very still, but Ford knew he was listening.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff before the storm.   
> Chapter got so long I split it into two.

He turned the smoke bomb over and over in his hands. The sound of pen on paper echoed in his ears. It was a forever pattern that wouldn't go away. Scribble, scribble. Pause. _Click-click_. _Click-click_. _Click-click. Click-click_. A sigh. A 'hmm.' Then back to scribbling. 

 _Click-click. Click-click._  

_Click-click. Click-click._

... _Click_ -

"Alright that's it! I swear if either one of you press down on that pen one more time - I will _crash this ship!_ "

There was silence. 

- _click_. 

"Okay, I'm done with this," Stan got up and yanked the notebook out of AUFord's hands. 

"Hey! You can't just - !"

He yanked Ford's away too.

"S-stanley!"

"You two are driving me insane. This ship is _suffocating_. I'm not just gonna stand by and listen to you _click_ your _pens_. Talked to me. You can write when I'm asleep,"

"Stanley Pines. Give me back my notebook,"

Stan waved it in front of AUFord's face.

"Oh, this thing? You want it back? Fight me for it,"

"Stanley," Ford growled. 

Stan laughed. 

"I dare you. Fight me!"

"... maybe he has gone insane,"

"S-stanley, n-no one is f-fighting. C-cut it out,"

"I'll blast you if that's what you want," AUFord challenged.

"N-no! N-no one is b-blasting anyone,"

"What do you nerds have in this thing anyways? Think I can take a peak?" Stan saw AUFord's look of contempt.

"Stanley Pines. Give that back. Do you have any idea how long it took me to find another notebook?"

"I bet you wrote about me,"

AUFord stood up and stretched out a hand.

"Give it back," he growled. 

Stan smiled wide. AUFord leapt at him, but all he caught was smoke. The Fords stood, coughing. 

"What ... ?"

"'I've found another Stanley Pines from another Dimension. Interestingly, he is just as annoying as my own Stan ... ,'"

Ford went to the door, but it was locked. He slammed his fists against it.

"Stanley Pines! Open this door right now!"

"I'm just kidding. That's not what it actually said,"

"S-stan ... S-stan, o-open up,"

"Yeesh, some of this stuff," 

"Isn't there anyway to get this door open?"

"I-it only l-locks f-f-from the o-other s-s-side,"

"Stanley!"

"J-just ... l-l-leave him,"

"Alright found it. 'As I have suspected, parallel dimensions are indeed real. In my current state, I am traveling with a set of Pines twins that I bumped into on the slaver's space station ...' yada, yada ... Stuff about the alien things ... you named them a Telekrackien? Why did no one bother to tell me about this? And why do you have to write so small?!"

***

"I-is he still ... ,"

AUFord stood up and checked the door. 

"Locked. Still locked," 

A yell came from the other side. 

"You really think I'm stopping now? Things just started getting interesting!"

AUFord turned to his counterpart. 

"Where do you think he's reading?"

Ford shrugged his shoulders. AUFord looked back at the door.

"I hope there wasn't anything in there you didn't want him seeing,"

Ford shrugged again, looking at AUFord like he didn't really care anymore. 

"Yeah, me too," AUFord went back and sat down in his chair. 

The two of them looked out the window for a long time. AUFord glanced at Ford. Then the door. Without looking, he slowly pulled something out of his coat. 

 _Click-click_.

"... I swear Stanford!"

***

"Are you gonna eat that?"

Ford looked down at his food.

"N-no, go ahead," he mumbled.

Stan switched the crackers in his meal for the weird pudgy package on Ford's.

"Can I have some of that?"

Stan looked at AUFord. His grip tightened over the package.

"Well I ... ,"

AUFord sighed.

"Nevermind," he focused on his own food again.

Stan sat there a moment. He looked at his hands, then ripped the package open. He took his spoon to it and started stirring. AUFord eyed the pudge, then looked away. Stan's stirring slowed. Then it stopped all together

He huffed.

"Ug, fine," He held out his spoon and dropped a good sized wallop next to AUFord's other food. AUFord looked at him in surprise.

"Th-thanks,"

Stan rolled his eyes.

"Whatever. You want some back Sixer?"

Ford scrunched his nose.

"No. I-it's disgusting,"

"What?" AUFord bit into his share "This stuff is great,"

Stanley was 'mmm'ing.

"You don't know what your missing out in Sixer," he mumbled, mouth full.

"Tried it. Eh,"

AUFord looked at Stanley with a raised eyebrow. Stan shook his head.

"Honestly Sixer. Are you even human? Is that even a human tongue you've got in there?"

***

Ford stepped back up to the front. He wiped sleep from his eyes.

"Hey," he yawned. He looked over to them then stopped. "I-is that ... s-safe?"

Stan looked up at him, but AUFord gazed intently down.

"Probably not. Get some good sleep Sixer?"

"S-shouldn't have," he pointed at the various bombs they had. "You - you're gonna ... that i-isn't,"

"It's quite alright. We're being extra careful. We just needed peices for our game," he moved one of the taffy like explosives Stan had shown him earlier. "Go,"

Stan looked down and then narrowed his eyes as if concentrating. He nodded his head with a "uhuh," then picked up his own peice.  It was a long string of minuscule charges that they'd cut into their seperate parts. Stan took it and bounced it all across the board, landing confidently on the other side.

"Ooo ... sorry. I win," he smiled, hiding a smug grin behind his hand.

But AUFord was staring too hard at their board.

"Again? How is this possible? This _shouldn't_ be possible. Best 33 out of 65,"

Stan shrugged.

"If you insist," he started resetting the board.

AUFord carefully watched each of Stan's motions.

"I don't get it," he mumbled. "This is statistically improble. How are _you_ beating _me_ at this?"

Stan laughed.

"Maybe you just aren't as smart as you think you are AU. Here, you first,"

AUFord huffed, then moved one of his peices.

"There are only so many possibilities in this game. It shouldn't be that hard trying to find the winning play,"

"Stanley ... ,"

Stan turned to him.

"Ford, shhh!" He muffled a laugh. "We're trying to _play_ ,"

"Yes, please be quiet. I'm trying to concentrate,"

Ford sighed.

"H-he's _cheating_ AUFord,"

AUFord just waved him away with a hand. He didn't even look up.

"No that's impossible. I thought that before too, but I've been watching him very carefully. It can't be,"

Stan snickered.

"See? AU 's had his eye on me. So let us _play_ ,"

Ford walked over and - very carefully - picked up their checkers board.

"33/65?" He raised an eye brow. "Not cheating?"

AUFord opened his mouth in protest, then shut it. His eyes clouded in confusion.

"Well when you put it like that,"

Stan laughed.

"Come on Sixer. Why do you have to ruin all my fun? Just for that, now _you've_ got to play checkers with me,"

AUFord shook his head.

"But how? How is this _possible_? I was watching you the entire time!" He turned to Ford. "What was I missing?"

Ford carefully put the board down away from the two. He shrugged his shoulders.

"I d-don't know,"

"Don't feel bad AU. Sixer can't figure it out either,"

"He won't s-say,"

"I can't! It's just too funny!"

"But then how do you know he's cheating?"

"Oh, I'm cheating alright. I can't belive you went 16 rounds with me! What on earth AU?"

AUFord cringed.

***

"Stanley! What are you doing?" Ford hissed.

Stanley jerked up, hiding his arm behind his back. He smiled, eyes shifting.

"Not drawing on AU in his sleep, that's for sure. What are you talking about - me? No way! Hehe,"

"Stay away from him,"

"But - ,"

"Don't bug him."

Stan huffed, throwing up his hands.

"Fine,"

***

"Hey ... you awake?"

Ford shook his head.

"No," he growled.

"Sorry. I just ... I think Stanley did something to your face,"

Tired, Ford rolled over. A moment later he bolted up.

"Wh - ?" He wiped at his mouth, then looked at his hand. Black ink came away. "Stanley - !" He stopped when he saw AUFord looking down at him smirking. "Hey - !"

"Sorry. It's just kind of funny,"

Ford narrowed his eyes at AUFord's face.

"F-funny, eh?"

"Kind of yeah," he raised a brow. "Why? What are you ... ," he stopped with a frown then slowly wiped a hand over his mouth. Black ink came away. "STANLEY!"

***

"Shh ... ," AUFord whispered.

Ford smiled. They eached leaned in over Stanley's sleeping figure.

A smoke bomb went off. Suddenly Stan was gone.

"Wha - ?" Ford coughed.

"How on earth? I thought you said he was asleep?"

"He - he was,"

"You nerds need to try harder than that!"

They saw Stan in the door way. He slid it closed and locked it.

AUFord pounded at it.

"You're going to have to sleep sometime Stanley Pines! You can't stay awake forever!"

***

Stan sipped at his drink.

"So ... ,"

The Fords looked at him.

"I think we're missing the obvious here guys,"

"W-what do you mean?"

"What obvious?"

"Well since none of us has access to a mirror ... ,"

The Fords gasped. They ran hands over their mouths. Black ink came away. They turned to each other.

"You - !"

"You said weren't going to say anything!"

"Y-you made a deal! W-with him!"

"So did you!"

Stanley laughed.

"You two nerds look like idiots,"

"Speak for yourself Stanley Pines!"

"We - we s-still got you,"

Stanley smirked.

"I know ... But I still look fantastic," he sipped at his drink some more and smiled at their glares.

***

" ... ,"

" ... ,"

" ... ,"

" ... Are we there yet?"

"No! Now knock it off. Your worse than a child!"

" ... ,"

" ... ,"

" ... ,"

" ... Are we there yet?"

"Stanley," Ford hissed.

" ... ,"

" ... ,"

" ... ,"

" ... Are we - ,"

"Yes! Yes Stanley! We have finally arrived! Happy?"

"No, not really,"

"Well why not?"

"Because we're still not there yet,"

"Stan. We can't f-fix this a-a-anymore th-than you can,"

"I know. But we're running out of food,"

"We know Stan! Why do you keep pestering us?"

" ... I'm bored,"

"I don't think I can take anymore of this,"

"Honestly? ... M-me either,"

" ... ,"

" ... ,"

" ... ,"

" ... Are we there yet?"

"Stanley Pines!"

" ... ,"

"Please be quiet Stan," Ford pleaded. "Please ... ,"

Stan heaved a deep sigh.

" ... Fine," he started up woefully at the ceiling.

"Thank you. Thank you Stanley. Thank you,"

" ... ,"

" ... ,"

" ... ,"

" ... Are we there yet?"

The Ford's ground their teeth. Stan smiled.

***

Finally, after what felt like years, Stanley seemed to wear himself down. All the next day he sat in silence, starring out the window. It was such a sudden change that the Fords were worried about him at first.

They stood in the back, whispering.

"Do you think he's sick?"

Ford shrugged.

"Maybe it's was something he ate. Do you think that stuff expires?"

Ford shrugged again. They were running precariously low on food. They didn't have much of a choice.

"I can hear you two, ya know!"

They turned their heads as they heard Stan shout to them from the front.

"Can't a guy just enjoy the veiw?"

They quieted. After that they decided not to push their luck. Stan was finally going to let them have their peace. Best to enjoy it as long as it lasted.

None of them knew what was going to happen. The Fords were looking for a planet to show up in their sights, but the scanner never caught anything. They felt doomed to an eternity in their steel prison.

Stan looked cheerless and Ford began to wonder if they'd been too quick to write him off. But he figured it must've been the time that was getting to him. Ford realized that there were limits to even his brother's seemingly unending energy.

Later Ford woke up sweaty and pale from a nightmare. It had been the first one in ages. Almost since they'd left the space station.

As if by magic Stan was right there besides him. Letting his solid embrace ground his brother. Offering quiet murmurs of comfort while Ford couldn't speak. Running his fingers through Ford's hair, letting his breathing guide his brother's racing heart. After what felt like eons, Ford finally slipped back to sleep.

When he roused again the memory slipped away like a forgotten dream.

***

"I think we have a problem,"

Ford raised a brow.

"What?" He whispered.

"It's ... Stanley,"

The two of them looked towards the back where Stan had gone to look at what was left of their provisions.

"W-what about ... Stanley?"

"He's ... happy," AUFord cast a glance over his shoulder. Then, voice low, he whispered conspiriously. "But he's _quiet_ ," he shook his head. "I don't like it,"

Ford looked at AUFord, skepticism written across his face. He almost laughed, but then his face grew sober. He thought about for moment. His eyes widened.

"Oh, n-no,"

AUFord nodded.

"Exactly. Something is wrong - ,"

"I'm starving! Anyone else want to eat?"

The Ford's jumped at Stan's voice.

"Be on guard," AUFord hissed.

Then the two of them settled, waiting for Stan to come back in. He walked through the door, packages in hand.

"Here," he tossed them their share.

They sat together and ate.

"I'm thirsty," Ford mumbled.

"We didn't run out of water did we?

Stan smiled easily, and poured something into each of their cups.

"Not at all. Here - drink," then he poured into his own and sipped.

The Fords eyed him, but drank without question.

***

Stan was laughing quietly to himself.

"What ... ," AUFord shook his head, trying to clear it of the foggy haze. "What are you - _hiccup_ \- laughing about?"

Stan shook his head, smiling wider.

"N - _hiccup_ \- nothing,"

"S - _hiccup_ \- stan? Wh - _hiccup_ \- did you - _hiccup_ \- ... ,"

Stan looked away and took another sip of his glass. Then he leaned back, dropping the rest of it down his throat. 

Ford tried to stand. He pushed himself up, and his legs wobbled beneath him. AUFord shot out an arm as he crashed to the floor.

"Gah!"

"Whoa, are you - _hiccup_ \- okay?"

"No," Ford groaned.

Stan smile fell and he stared at the two Fords. AUFord glanced at him.

"Stan ... you ... ,"

" - did something," Ford whispered. "You ... ," he put a hand to his head thinking hard. "Did you ... _drug_ us?"

AUFord's eyes slowly widened in a delayed reaction. A moment later he gasped.

"Stanley Pines!"

Stan flinched.

Ford glowered at AUFord. AUFord turned, saw Ford, then leaned away in discomfort. Ford turned his glare to Stan.

"This is too far," he mumbled. He shook his head. "You've - _hiccup_ \- you've crossed ... a _line_ ,"

AUFord looked between Stan and Ford. He put a hand by his mouth and loudly whispered at Ford.

"What line?"

Ford looked confused for a moment.

"I ... I don't - _hiccup_ \- know. Or ... remember? - _hiccup_ \- ,"

Stanley was staring at his cup with a forlorn expression on his face.

"Sorry," he slurred. "Maybe this wasn't such a good idea ... ," he looked away.

Ford shook his head.

" _Stanley_. What were you - _hiccup_ \- thinking?" He growled.

" ... don't worry about it," Stan murmered.

AUFord went to stand, then remembered what happened to Ford. He settled for a glare.

"You were being _stupid_. - _hiccup_ - _Again_. Why can't you just - ow!"

Ford had slugged him. AUFord looked at him sullen, and rubbed his arm with a look of discomfort.

"Stan. You can't - _hiccup_ \- just - _hiccup_ \- ug," Ford clapped angry hands over his mouth.

Stanley nodded once.

"Okay. Alright ... - _hiccup_ \- Never again. But for now ... don't think about it,"

"Stanley I - ,"

"No really,"

AUFord glared at Stan's interuption.

"Don't think about it," Stan's eyes flashed in sudden excitement. "Right? Just don't think. Easy, yeah? We can just ... ," Stan looked around. "We can play cards. Or no - ! Checkers!"

"No!"

The Ford's looked at each other, then shrugged in unison.

"No checkers," Ford said.

"Cards?"

AUFord shook his head.

"For the last time. You can't - _hiccup_ \- use my journal to make - _hiccup_ \- playing cards!"

Stan sighed, but then smiled wide again.

"Well okay. We'll find something else to do. We have to," Stan stood to his feet.

The Fords stared at his success. Even more so when he only wobbled a little. He walked over to the Fords and grabbed them each by the arm. He pulled them to their feet and helped give them blance.

"We'll figure something out. I - _hiccup_ \- have a few ideas,"

"Stan," AUFord groaned. "Why can't you just let us sit in the silence? For once, why - _hiccup_ \- can't you just - _hiccup_ \- be - _hiccup_ \- quiet?"

Stan's eyes widened in panic. He let the two of them go and then took a step back.

Ford had zoned out. He looked at Stan's stricken expression then slugged AUFord again.

"Ow! Hey!"

Ford turned to his brother.

"Stanley? What's wrong?"

Stan was shaking.

"Nothing!" He barked. "It's all going to be fine. You just ... - _hiccup_ \- over _think_ things," he looked at Ford pleadingly. "Just play some games with me Ford. _Please_. Let's just ... forget everything and have fun. Is that too much to ask?"

Something nagged at the back of Ford's head. But his brain was too hazy to think clearly. Stan started to wring two nervous hands together.

"Stop thinking about everything and just let me - _hiccup_ \- make you have fun. Come on Ford. _Please_. Just leave things be for _once_. You never leave it. - _hiccup_ \- You always have to be thinking. Let's just do stupid stuff and not worry about why. Or how. Or - _hiccup_ \- if,"

Ford thought about it. The feeling in his mind came back, but this time it was followed by a twinge in his gut.

"That's stupid," AUFord huffed. "Why would we - ,"

"You're still over thinking it!" Stan looked half crazed as he shouted.

Ford gulped, the feeling in his gut grew. He stared at Stan, deeply troubled. His wiped his eyes then looked at Stan's wild expression.

"Fine," he whispered.

Stan visibly relaxed. AUFord gaped in surprise.

"What? Your just going to go with this madness?"

Ford glared at AUFord.

"You are too," he growled.

AUFord stared at him in shock. But Stan was smiling now, so Ford didn't care.

"Y-yes. Yes great!" He walked into the back in excitement. " - _hiccup_ \- ,"

Ford's eyes widened.

"Wait, Stan! Where are you going?" He headed after him.

AUFord stood in the front with his arms crossed. Ford glanced back then turned and dragged AUFord with him.

"This isn't going to end well Sixer," he complained.

"I don't much care," Ford replied. "Besides. What could really happen? In here? Really?"

"Don't - _hiccup_ \- tempt fate,"

Ford grunted, but they both still ended up in the back with Stan.

Despite Ford's misgivings, he quickly forgot anything he'd ever been worried about. AUFord too. They spent hours and hours with Stan, letting him take control of the atmosphere.

It wasn't until Stan passed out some time later that they realized he'd still been drinking all the while. When silence finally fell, they looked around themselves as if broken from a spell. The ship was a complete _mess_. It had been an amazing joke just minutes before, but now the two couldn't fathom how. Because it _really_ wasn't funny. It was a _nightmare_.

The Fords looked at each other and internally groaned. They were going to have to clean that all up later. But for now they felt exhausted. Stan had 'partied' them to the bone. No more than five minutes after he'd passed out, the two Fords were back to back, deep asleep.

And despite the slight crink they'd wake up with, it was some of the best rest they'd gotten in years.

***

Ford jerked awake at the sound of a loud shout. He whipped towards the noise, then shrank back in a moan. The light was blinding. He put a hand over his eyes and shut out the fervent pain building in his temples.

He leaned forward. AUFord slipped and jerked awake. He immediantly groaned too, his face in his hands. Every noise pierced their ears. Stifled gasps echoed across the room. He tried to look, but was only met with more pain. Anyone would would have thought he had a hot poker jammed into his brain.

They sat there for what felt like days. The pathetic murmurs of some wounded animal floated around them. The only reasonable part of Ford that was left wondered when they'd gotten a stowaway. AUFord finally got ahold of himself enough to make a descision other than sleep. He stood up and fumbled to a wall. Ford heard his inconsistent shambling and then the click of a button.

The light flicked off and with it went the pain behind his eyes. He breathed a sigh of relief, then noticed the noises quieting. His entire body was exhausted. AUFord dropped down the wall and fell back asleep.

Ford's mind felt uneasy. He worried a stray raccoon might get into something while they were passed out. But then he remembered the mess and decided not to care. The last thing he thought of was if space raccoons existed - before he dozed off again.


	14. Chapter 14

When they finally woke up for good, the pain had subsided. The Fords put some food in their system and felt ten times better. They were about to chew Stan out when they realized he was still unconscious. When they shook him awake he nearly barfed.

He'd drank himself sick. It was one of the worst hangovers any of them had ever experianced, and the Fords decided to forgive Stan a little when he was already getting the full consequence of his actions.

They left him to his misery, giving him some pain killers from the first aid kit, then focused on the mess. They spent the next three days cleaning. On the second day Stan felt up to being alive and helped them out.

They were all silent. Some unspoken acknowledgement between them. Stan in paticular never spoke more than a word or two as they worked. They sorted through all of the ships things. The boxes were repacked and stacked against the wall, and their other things lay organized and in their places.

They took count of their food. There was almost a week's left. Giver or take a day if they were careful. They'd been on the ship almost a month. Something had to happen soon.

***

Over the next few days the Fords almost started to miss Stan's rediculous outbursts. But when he finally did, they regret it immediately.

"You - you what?" He smirked.

The Fords scowled.

"Look, it was one time. Don't sound so surprised,"

"Poindexter you blew up the pool!" Stan laughed, amused at their expense.

"F-fiddleford. He started it,"

"It was his machine,"

"I thought it was an android,"

Stan shook his head.

"It wish I could've seen it. Your college parties were wild!"

"Party. Singular,"

"Someone dragged Fidds into it. I only went for moral support,"

Stan smiled wide.

"That's one heck of a first drink,"

"Stop laughing,"

"Well what about you? It's your turn," AUFord pointed a finger. "Our turn to laugh at you. Go,"

Stan's wide grin wavered.

"What me?" He leaned back, trying to look at ease. "Hmm. Well its been a while. I don't think I remember to be honest,"

"That's too bad ... ,"

Stanley nodded in agreement.

"Sorry. Maybe I'm just getting old or something - ,"

"It's too bad because we're going to sit here and wait till you remember,"

Stan raised a brow. 

"What? Don't be rediculous AU. Sixer? Back me up,"

Ford shook his head. Then he smiled slyly.

"Stor-y. Stor-y. Stor-y," he chanted.

AUFord laughed then joined in.

"Stor-y! Stor-y! Stor-y!"

Stan gave them each each glare. He waved them off.

"Alright, alright. Fine. Maybe I can try to recall ... ,"

The Fords stopped their chanting. Stan rolled his eyes at their expectant looks.

"Well I can't promise college Frat parties or anything, but uh - ,"

AUFord put his face in his hands.

"That was one time Stanley. _One time_ \- ,"

Stan laughed.

"Okay, okay. So I was ... 18. Yeah, I was 18, living it up in this ... neighborhood. And I - ,"

Ford sat back to listen.

"- well I was wandering around after ... working all day. And I saw this giant group of people. They all were headed down to a bar and I figured, 'Hey. Party group. Free food right?' So I tagged along and I - ,"

Ford stared at AUFord. His counterpart was paying rapt attention as he soaked in every word.

" - I bumped into this one guy. He was huge. Like, so huge his arms were the size of watermelons huge. It was insane. But what was even crazier was when he offered me some drinks. And I figured, 'well maybe I'll get him to but me me a sandwich or something', which he did. But when he slid the drink over - well you don't just say no to a guy like _that_ ,"

Ford stared back at Stan. His brother's story pulled him in. He got caught up with each new sentence, but something about it also felt wrong. 

"So anyways. A few drinks later and the bar is on fire. Literally. The bartender is so busy putting out the flames that he doesn't notice the _car_ that drives straight through the _wall_ from outside - ,"

AUFord raises an eyebrow. Ford smirked in amazement. He let his brother's voice wash over him - he got lost in the old memories.

"Everyone gets kicked out after that. So I'm left wandering around doing whatever and ... ," Stan pauses and frowned, looking thoughtful.

"And what?" Ford asked.

"Yeah, what'd you do next," AUFord shifted in his chair. He'd been leaning forward without realizing it.

Stan glanced at them. He blinked.

"Oh, right. Well I ... ,"

The uneasy feeling came in waves. He waited, surprised by Stanley's hesitation, and suddenly he knew what was wrong.

"Well I don't really remeber," he smiled. "I was drunk right? Who knows what happened after that,"

AUFord frowned then huffed in dissapointment.

"Oh ... ," he murmered.

Ford looked at the ground. He felt sick.

Stan was lying.

He didn't know what was worse. That he _didn't_ tell them what really happened, or that he felt he _couldn't_.

He put his head between his hands and breathed. All around him he felt the invisible gazes of the eyes. He sucked in through his nose and out through his mouth, trying to prevent an episode.

Stan was besides him in a second.

"Ford?" He put out a hand, but it got waved aside.

Stan didn't fight the movement. Ford sat up and looked at Stan. He didn't want to trouble him about the story, but he couldn't help but remember the feeling of something being so terribly _wrong_. Something that needed to be fixed. That was almost a month ago. He'd been putting this off for so long.

"Stanley, don't," he murmered.

Stanley gave a half hearted chuckle.

"Don't what Sixer?"

Ford frowned.

"You ... you were lying," his voice wavered, but his fears were confirmed when Stanley's face froze. He knew it. He'd heard too many of his brother's narrations to know when he was 'embellishing'. Ford looked down. "D-did any of that really happen? A-any of it?"

"Wh - of course it did! I-I wouldn't ... lie,"

AUFord was looking at Stan with a strange expression. Then he looked out the window, mostly upset he'd believed another one of Stan's tricks. _Again_.

"Stanley ... ," Ford didn't know what to say. He didn't want to make his brother feel bad, but things were getting rediculous. It was just supposed to be a story.

Stan saw how torn Ford looked. He growled.

"Alright fine. My first drink," he threw his hands up in the air. "17. I used the last of my money to get plastered in some random bar after I got thrown out of the house. Happy?"

Ford stared at Stan, appalled. Stan sighed.

"See? This is why I don't tell you this stuff. You just get all mopey on me,"

"S - stan I - ," he choked on his own words. He put a hand over his mouth and looked away.

Stan's eyes widened.

"Hey, hey. Look, its fine okay? It's in the past. Who cares?"

"I do!" he shouted.

Stan took a step back in surprise. AUFord watched them, but stayed out of it. It made him wonder about _his_ Stanley.

_Did he really go get drunk after he got kicked out?_

Ford reached out a hand, then jerked it back. He felt so aweful. He was such a terrible brother. He should have never turned his back on Stan.

But Stanley took his hand anyways. He reached down and pulled it towards him.

"Ford forget about it. It doesn't matter anymore,"

"Y - yes it does! I was aweful! I - ,"

AUFord raised a brow. Stan waved away the concern.

" Ford. Come on. Don't think about all of that. If we just focus on _now_ \- ,"

"N - no! You h-have to st-stop doing that. St-stop putting everything o-off. You can't just keep - b-bottling everything a-away,"

Stan squeezed Ford's six fingers then smiled, looking at him nervous.

"But, Ford. I'm not. It's _better_ this way. If we don't worry about it, then it's like it doesn't exist. Right? Just listen. Why worry about things that we can't control? What's happened has already happened. Unless you want to worry about parodoxes, then we'll just leave it be. Okay? Or do you want to build a time machine?"

Fords head swirled.

"N-no, no. O-of course not,"

Stan stepped in closer. He slung his arm over his shoulder and started to speak in soothing tones.

"Exactly Ford. We can't change the past. Why try? _Look where we are!_ We're in space! Space, Ford! Bloody Space!" he let out a shaky laugh. "We're here. We're alive. We're together. What more could you ask for?"

Ford felt compelled by Stan's words.

"A shower?" he joked.

Stan laughed.

"See? Isn't this better than mindlessly mourning over things out of our control? Let's just not worry about it. Don't be such a stubborn dummy. For a genius, you can be pretty stupid,"

Ford sighed. Stan had a point. About all of it. The reasonable side of him couldn't help but agree. But he still couldn't shake the feeling of _wrongness_.

"But ... w-we can't just 'l-leave it be'. Not if - if it'll b-blow up in out f-faces,"

Stan shrugged his shoulders.

"Of course we can. We just have to accept the past, and move on. I mean, do you really care about anything that happened, except for maybe depressing stuff? Because if you're ... ," he voice seemed like it would break for a moment, but then he continued strong. "If you're still mad at me for something. Than yeah. Get it out there. We can deal with - with _that_ ," he breathed. "But if you're just focusing on everything that's ever gone wrong. All the things you wanted to do better. Then forget about them. Right?"

"I - I ... ," he gulped. "I th-think we should t-talk about it,"

Stan snorted.

"We _are_ talking about it poindexter. Look, just - ," he pulled Ford to his feet. " _We talk all the time._ I already know everything you're going to want to tell me. The gnomes, the unicorns, that nerd friend of yours. I already told you about me. The failures. The successes. All that stuff is already out in the 'open'. But you just want to go on and on about all the garbage in our lives," he waved his hands around. "But this is _now_. Why should I spend all day blubering about everytime I felt _bad_. Everytime my _feelings_ were hurt. Everytime I had an off day?" he shook his head. "It doesn't _matter_ anymore. So lets just _forget_ it,"

Ford looked at his brother. He wanted so badly to agree. To just forget it all and let Stanley have fun. Smile. Make Ford laugh.

"M-m-maybe,"

Stan sighed, but he was smiling. He squeezed Ford's shoulder.

"Stanford Pines, stop worrying about everything. It's all gonna turn out all right. I'll _make it_ turn out alright,"

Stan's words were alluring. He made him want to accept. To agree without question. He looked at his brother. Stan's eyes focused for a moment and he gave Ford a wild grin.

"What do you say? Let's just move on? Forget all this?" he raised a brow and held out a hand. "Is it a deal Sixer?"

Ford froze.

_Is it a deal Sixer?_

An old memory flashed in his mind.

_A deals a deal Sixer. You can't stop the bridge between our worlds from coming, but it would be fun to watch you try!_

Stan found himself sprawled on the floor. He hadn't expect Ford's rough shove. The sudden move shocked him and he was at a loss for words. He looked up confused, then froze at the click of a gun.

Heads turning, the two twins saw AUFord pointing his blaster in Stan's face. Ford shivered.

There was a long tenuous silence. Stan gulped.

"Wh - what? Au - ,"

"I knew it," AUFord seethed. "I knew something was wrong with you. _I knew it_ ,"

Stan's mouth gaped open. Ford looked at his counterpart in fear.

"A-A-AUF-Ford I-I-I - ,"

AUFord whipped his head to stare at Ford. His gaze was hard.

"You felt it too. So don't act like you didn't," 

Some sort of silent understanding passed between them and they shivered. AUFord looked away, and Ford eyed the gun. Then he looked at the ground. He ran his fingers through his hair and pulled, taking a shaky step back.

"I-I-I - ,"

"Sixer ... ?" Stan's voice was small.

"No," AUFord snarled. "Don't call us that! Never call us that!"

Stan shrank back. Ford saw it, and despite the anger that swelled in his limbs, he felt drowned by fear. His gaze darted around the room where the eyes were suddenly _everywhere_.

"N-no, no, no," he begged.

"I knew you couldn't be right. I knew it," AUFord brooded. "Stanley wouldn't jump in after me. He _didn't_. You ... you _killed that kid_. And you don't even _care_. You're just a deceitful liar. All of your pathetic attempts at bravado," his nose scrunched in contempt.

"N-no! I-I-I've n-never ... n-never seen," Ford put his head in his hands. His heart raced, but he had to do something. Things were suddenly spiraling out of control. AUFord was going to shoot Stanley. He couldn't let that happen. He couldn't ... right?

AUFord looked at him.

"Never seen? Never seen what? The eyes?" AUFord gestured to Stan in fury. "But their gone aren't they? Their gone! And how exactly did that happen? Sometime here in the portal? Or maybe - maybe even before! When was the last time you saw his eyes? I mean really saw them? Hasn't ever once crossed your mind - ,"

"N-no! I-It c-c-can't be!"

"Don't be so blind!" AUFord roared. "How'd he lose them in the first place? Did you even see when it happened? Don't you think that maybe he was hiding his eyes!"

Ford gasped for air.

No. That couldn't be true. It wasn't. _He'd_ taken away Stanley's eyes. It had been him. He'd been _protecting_ Stan. Protecting him from the madness. _He couldn't see._

... But. What if it had been for another reason. What if Ford, didn't _want_ to see? Didn't want to see the thin black slits on yellow. Didn't want to know that his only hope was tainted by the demon he'd been trying to escape. Maybe. In his crazed state. He'd understood something fundamental. Or maybe. Maybe the eyes knew. Maybe they had been trying to tell him the entire time and he wouldn't listen.

When had been the last time he'd seen Stanley's eyes? Really seen them? Was there even the slightest possiblity that Stan had never jumped in after him on his own? That his actions were directed by something else? Some _one_ else ...

"S-stanford," Stanley whispered.

Ford jerked his gaze to Stan. His brother was looking down the barrel of the gun. Stan saw the rage on AUFord's face and trembled. He looked and saw Ford's anguish and fear. He wanted to help. He wanted to calm whatever was troubling his brother, but he didn't know what he'd done wrong. He was sure AUFord would take the shot, and he didn't think dying would help anyone.

"Please," Stan begged. "I - What did I do?"

"Quiet! Stop pretending! No one is going to believe your lies anymore!"

Stan recoiled. It ripped Ford in half. He wanted to do something. He needed to move.

But the fear held him in place. He couldn't help but think over the treacherous thought. That maybe. Maybe Stanley wasn't ... Stanley. Should he let AUFord shoot him? Ford blanched. But if Stan was ... then maybe ... maybe he could finally stop the demon.

AUFord's hands were shaking. He didn't like the idea anymore than he realized his counterpart wouldn't. But if there was a _chance_. He looked to the other Ford. If he was wrong ...

"I'm shooting him,"

Stan paled. Ford looked at his own face. The determination in his counterpart's gaze.

"But I don't want you _killing me in my sleep_ if I'm wrong," AUFord shivered, but he held firm. "You decide,"

Stan's head shifted to watch his brother.

Fords shoulders slumped under the wieght of the matter. His fingers twitched and his gaze shifted all across the room. At the eyes that sat there. Watching him.

"I-I-I - ,"

" ... Stanford?"

Ford stared at Stan. His brother looked confused.

Stan was so lost. AUFord was threatning to kill him. Why wasn't Ford jumping to tell him stop? Whatever else was going on - Ford couldn't possibly want him dead. Right? Unless ... had he done something wrong? Something so horrible that Ford couldn't even care any more?

Stan gulped. He had a sneaky supicion he had.

Ford didn't know what to do. He didn't know what to think. He couldn't move. He couldn't _breath_.

"I-I-I d-don't ... I-I don't k-know," he whispered.

Stan's eyes widend in slow, creeping horror.

AUFord looked at Ford. He thought a long moment.

 _Okay,_ he thought. _Alright. Good enough for me._

His grip tightened on the gun.

Smoke flashed.

The blaster fired and the noise echoed around the room.

The door to the back slammed shut.

AUFord coughed then looked around.

Stanley was gone.

His eyes found the door and he ran over and banged on it.

"Stanley! Stanley open up! Stanley!"

Ford was starring at his hands in shock. His gaze slowly lifted to AUFord. He frowned.

"S-Stanley?" he tilted his head, face hardening. "S-Stanley?!" his voice roise a pitch.

AUFord looked at him confused, until he realized his mistake.

"Stan ... - ley .... Bill?"

"Y-you - ," Ford's face contorted in rage. "You w-weren't even s-sure?!" he choked.

AUFord's face drained of all it's color.

Suddenly Ford could move. The coiled waves of anger he'd been holding off finally surged across his limbs in a swell of heat and fury. He was so mad. AUFord almost killed _Stan_. And he would have _let_ him. He lept out with a fist.

AUFord had been expecting it. He stepped back and dogged. But Ford came right back with his other one. AUFord fell back in shock. He wiped a hand over his mouth and saw blood. Ford swung again. AUFord grew angry.

"You weren't sure either," he punched, but Ford dogged.

"But I didn't have the g-gun," Ford hissed. He kicked and landed his foot in AUFord's stomach.

AUFord doubled over, but then grabbed Ford's wrist and yanked down. He brought his knee up. Ford barely twisted his face away before the knee caught his side and he fell to the floor.

"If there was even a chance," he pounded on Ford's back and made his counterpart crumple. "But now he's in there. And now he knows we _know_ ,"

Ford's eyes filled with hate. He jumped at AUFord's feet and knocked him to the ground. They rolled over and over in the small space, their shoulders banging into the chairs. Ford found himself on top and punched AUFord in the face again. And then again. And then again. For everytime he'd made his brother feel weak and scared. It felt so good to finally let his fists fly. 

AUFord was dazed, but he reached out a hand and stopped the next fist. He followed with his own, knocking Ford off of him. 

"I was w-wrong," Ford languished. "I-it's not him," He got to his feet weezing. He punched out to AUFord, but was stopped by an arm. He kicked and got AUFord in the side. He groaned, then punched Ford in the face.

"How can you possibly know that for sure? You're just letting him trick you!" AUFord knew he'd had this coming, but blasted if he was right. He wasn't about to let the opportunity pass. 

Ford hobbled back. He wiped the blood off with the back of his hand then swung again. AUFord moved aside and pushed Ford into the control panel. Ford landed with a sharp intake of breath.

"I-it's n-n-not,"

AUFord stepped forward and twisted Ford around to face him.

"You don't know that," he tried to punch Ford in the gut, but Ford caught his hand.

"I _d-do_ ," he kicked AUFord away.

AUFord scrambled to his feet. Ford striked out, knocking him to the side. He was so angry and hurt at AUFord for everything he'd done to Stan. Everything _he'd_ done to Stan. It was then he realized he was just fighting a tangible version of himself. But he didn't care. He puched his counterpart again. AUFord teetered, then grabbed Ford's arm and swung him against the door to the back.

"How?" he sucked in air, out of breath. "How could you possibly know for sure?"

Ford lept out, but AUFord shoved him against the door again. His back ached and he slid to the ground.

"I-I-I d-do, " he trembled. He'd made a mistake. But he knew now. He knew for _sure_. How could he have been so stupid? 

As he thought about how he knew, the fight left him. He put his face in his hands, guilt churning in his gut. He wasn't fighting AUFord anymore. He was too full of hatred of _himself_. 

AUFord took in deep breaths.

"How?"

He waited for an answer, but Ford didn't respond. AUFord took in long shaking breaths. It seemed the fight was over and he suddenly felt exhausted. 

It was only then in their silence that AUFord finally heard it. The soft muffled sobs coming from the back. He was confused at first. And then its true meaning dawned on him.

He looked at Ford, his counterpart's face full of shame and hurt.

AUFord looked from his Ford to the door. He put a hand to his aching head then slank into a chair. 

 _What did I do?_ he thought.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why in the world was this so difficult to write? I hope it turned out all right. I put way too much time into this last chapter and I'm too close to see if it paid off. 
> 
> I'm not sure if this is Fluff, or if it makes anyone feel good, so much as it's satisfying and brings the story to a close, but I tried, so A for effort.

Before anyone had a chance to move he closed his eyes and jammed the smoke bomb down. Heart pumping, he lept to his feet and raced for the door. A hot blast ran past him. His narrow miss had him on the other side of the entryway. Hands shaking, he slammed the metal shut and locked it closed. Stumbling back, he gripped his heart. 

A loud bang sounded against the steal and he jumped, falling to the ground.

"Stanley! Stanley open up! Stanley!"

He scrambled to the corner, thick heavy fear soaking across his chest. The door shook, but Ford was stuck on the other side. He was safe. For now. 

Tension boiled through him, leaving his whole body weak and tired. His nerves were shot. The adrenaline pumping through his veins cried out in protest. He wanted to run. To run and hide and never be found again. But there was no where to go. His thoughts swirled heavy - round and around in his brain like rainstorm mist. In fact it wasn't until sometime later that he heard the crying. And it wasn't till even longer when he realized it was coming from him. 

He put his face in his hands, fists clenched. 

He didn't know what had just happened. He wished so much that he knew what he'd done. He couldn't keep his shoulders from shaking. He curled in on himself. He'd said something wrong. He was sure of it. He'd been acting like a fool. He was _such_ an _idiot_. 

He ripped at his hair. Why did this hurt so bad? 

He wished he was asleep. The nightmares never hurt as much as this. He wished he was back out in the slums of nowhere. At least then he wouldn't have to worry about staying in one piece. He'd never had to worry about keeping up morale when he lived on the streets. He could spend a week sitting in some crusty motel room, just looking at the wall. He could afford the self-hatred and the depressing thoughts and the pain that never really went away back then. 

He never had to worry about the guilt he felt when he told a lie. Never had to worry about his cheesy fake smile being called out. No one ever knew him well enough to notice. He wished he was alone. When he was alone he only had himself to watch out for. If he messed up it didn't matter. Not when he was the only one getting hurt. 

But he wasn't alone. He was with Ford. And now what? What had just happened? 

He was still gasping for air. Trying to calm himself down through the tears. What had he done to make the Fords so on edge? He was shocked. 

Maybe Stan deserved what he'd got. Even now. The look in the Fords eyes. The way they glanced at him with panic and anger. They'd wanted him _dead_ , and it was all his fault because he was nothing more than a hopeless, dimwitted waste of space! He couldn't do anything _right!_

He shook harder. Did he really believe that? 

He didn't know, but the ache in his heart was only getting worse. He sat in the corner, trying to regain control of himself. It was awful. Before, he'd never broken down like this. He didn't know what to do. He couldn't stop the ache seeping in. It was too strong. He hadn't felt this terrible in ages. It was shocking revelation that left him in hysterics for far too long.

Finally he was able to think back to something he'd said before. To the words that started this whole mess. 

' _I used the last of my money to get plastered -_ ,'

He needed a drink. 

He struggled to calm himself and wiped the pathetic drip from his nose with the back of his hand. Uncurling he stood and walked over to where he knew the rest of the alien alcohol was. He reached to grab the biggest bottle he could fine. He screwed off the cap then took a long swig. 

It ran down his throat like oil, but the stuff tasted like water. It was strange. Its warmth filled his limbs and almost immediately a fog emerged in his mind. The sharp knife in his chest lessened, if only a little. He nearly started crying again in relief. 

He drank some more. The thousands of hurricanes that twisted around and around in his head began to fade. It felt good. So much better than the agony that made him want to fall down and die. He kept drinking. He knew it'd give him another hangover, but he didn't care. 

He knew he'd wake up again to the blinding lights and the ache behind his eyes and would be reminded of when Ford took his sight. He knew he'd probably believe he was back in the cave again, and that Ford was standing over him somewhere. That if he only listened close enough he'd be able to hear Ford begging his forgiveness. That he'd hear his pathetic apology repeated over and over in a senseless manner that only signaled the collapse of his brother's mind.  

But he didn't care. It would be better than this. Anything would be better than this. 

***

"You didn't tell him?"

Ford's grip tightened around his knees. He shook his head and curled tighter in on himself.

"Why?"

AUFord's question rang through the air. It made Ford shiver. He couldn't keep hold on the feelings it invoked. That was problem, wasn't it? After everything the Stan and Ford had been through. Ford still hadn't told Stan about Bill. About the demon Bill Cipher who had been haunting him before he fell into the portal. Why?

But he knew the answer. Ironically enough, he finally remembered. 

"I-I just wanted to _forget_ ," he whispered. 

He'd had it all wrong. He'd thought Stan was the one avoiding their issues. Instead it was _him_. How could he have let that go so easily? Even after Stan had gone over everything that had happened to him those ten years. When he'd talked to him in the cave. After he'd let Ford into the less agreeable parts of his past. Ford still couldn't. Instead he told Stan about his research. About all of the amazing things he'd found. But when it came to Bill. He left that part unsaid. He told himself he wasn't ready. Even now, he still didn't think he was.

But that was because Bill wasn't just a memory in the past. His presence was still so tangible. Everywhere Ford looked. In the cave's insanity - in his madness. He'd always seek out the single yellow eye with a thin black slit. Every time he slept, the fear of the demon entering his dreams was still strong. He was paranoid yes, but not without reason. It had never been without reason.

But lately ... it had been okay. The last while had actually been tolerable. Better than that - it'd been _enjoyable_. Stan had made him happy. His brother had taken his mind off of Bill. He'd made him forget and for the first time in ages he'd relaxed a little. 

That was irresponsible of Ford. He could never relax. Bill would be just around the corner - he was sure of it. He should've told Stan. He needed to know.

But he couldn't help but think. If the very _thought_ of the demon being in his brother had driven the Fords to such drastic measures ... how could he ever let Stan come to understand something so unnerving? He didn't want his brother to feel that. He didn't want Stan to have to know what it felt like to not trust yourself. For it to drive you to do insane things.  

So he'd let Stan make him forget. It had been going on for so long that Ford hadn't even remember that he'd forgotten. And now he'd pressed and pressed and _pressed_. Why couldn't he have just left it be? Stan had been right. He should have just let him make Ford forget. He should have just let his brother's good nature make up for the silence neither knew Ford had been keeping.

But it was too late. Hearing Stan from beyond the door. What had he _done_? How could he have let that happen?

But AUFord could understand. He'd done nothing _but_ think of Bill since he fell into the portal. Funny enough, it wasn't till he'd ran across the twins that his thoughts had drifted away from that constant worry. Maybe that was why he'd reacted so strongly. He felt vulnerable for letting himself be so off guard all this time.

"Stanford ... ,"

Ford glanced over to his counterpart. AUFord wasn't looking at him. His eyes had a far off look. He was thinking hard.

" ... how ... ?" He seemed to be having trouble forming the words. " ... how did Stan ... lose his _eyes_?" AUFord turned. He needed to ask. Everything seemed to come back to that. He felt like he was missing something. But even then, his brow creased in confusion at Ford's dark stare. "I - I don't mean to pry. I just ... I feel like I keep doing something wrong - I ... ," he trailed off.

Ford sucked in a shaky breath. The memory was emblazoned in his mind. He cringed at the thought, but now that it was there, it wouldn't go away.

AUFord saw the shame and guilt written on his counterpart's face to such a degree that it surprised him. Something must have happened. But what?

"Whatever you did ... I'm sure Stan - ," he had to stop. Stan would forgive him? Who was he to say? He didn't even think _his_ Stan forgave him. Didn't think he _should_.

"N-noo," Ford moaned. "That - that makes it w-worse,"

"What did you ... do?" Apprehension ran down his spine.

"I-it was me," Ford croaked.

AUFord tried to understand what his other self meant, but his thoughts weren't clicking. 

"I - I t-took his eyes. He - he couldn't see. He couldn't _see_! I - ," Ford breathed in and out. The eyes were back. They stared at him and he could _feel_ their laughter. "I w-was trying t-to _protect_ h-him. He c-couldn't _see_! H-had to keep him s-s- _sane_. F-for b-both of us. I-I-I ... ," he had to stop. The eyes. It was all too much. In and out he breathed, trying to get his heart under control.

AUFord's thoughts worked to wrap his mind around Ford's words. His counterpart was starting to scare him. Ford must have done something awful. But they weren't _that_ different. Whatever Ford had done - AUFord would have done it too. It wouldn't be _that_ bad? Would it? He realized he might almost not want to know anymore.  

But Ford was thinking about his brother.

Thinking about Stan still on the other side of the door. Stan still hurt and alone and it was all his _fault_. He only hurt Stan. Again and again and _again!_ Every time he touched him, Stan shivered. Or at least he _should_ shiver. But Stan was such an idiot. If his brother had any brains at all he would have ditched Ford the minute they'd landed in the portal. Not even then. He wouldn't even have jumped in after him. AUFord's Stan was a smart man. He knew Ford wasn't really worth the effort. He knew Ford didn't deserve to be helped. Not after everything he'd done.

He wished he had the courage to leave Stan himself. It would be better that way. But he was a coward. He wanted Stan with him. Even after he kept hurting him time after time after time.

AUFord was looking at his hands in confusion. He still didn't get it. He still couldn't understand the crazed ravings of his other self.

"Wh - how? How was it _your_ fault? I ... I don't understand," He didn't think he wanted to understand. Everything had become such a mess. AUFord looked around as if he could find an exit in the windows to space.

Ford wished he could stop. He didn't know why he was answering. But it almost felt like the words needed to be voiced.

"I - ," his voice cracked. " - I b-b- _burned_ them," it was a confession he'd never made aloud. Just voicing the truth behind his actions made his mind spiral further than it had before. "But h-he couldn't _see_. I couldn't let him _see_. And n-n-now he's afraid of me. But he isn't! And he s-s-should. He's always scared and it's b-b-because of me - I can't - I just - and t-the _heat_! H-he c-c-can't forget the h-h-heat! I - he wouldn't stay s-st-still. It was supposed to b-b-be quick. I - ," he collapsed in on himself. His shoulders shook but he couldn't bring himself to cry. Stanley was crying. Stanley was hurt and Ford hurt him. He wouldn't cry and wait for his brother to comfort him. He couldn't do that. Not again. Not now. Not while Stan needed him to be strong for the first time in his life he just needed to be strong! Stan needed him to not be so _weak_ and _cowardly_ when he couldn't be strong. He couldn't be doing this. He needed to be strong like Stanley. Like his brother. He - he didn't know if he could.

As understanding dawned on AUFord's, his face melted into one of horror. Each word that tumbled out of his counterpart's mouth seemed to drag him further and further into some  _nightmare_. And then things finally clicked into place.

The way the brothers were so close, yet so distant. The way Stan sometimes glanced at the Fords in pure terror. The way they both seemed to dance around something that neither of them wanted to admit existed.

And then the slaver's space station. Suddenly it all made so much _sense_. He hadn't known, but it still filled him with an immense amount of guilt over how _thoughtless_ his actions had been.

He didn't know how Stanley did it. How could he stand to be around someone who had done something so awful to him? How could he stand to let them touch him without screaming out? How could he sleep at night knowing the crazed mind of his brother was right besides him? That any moment he could lose it again and could finish him off?

He felt nothing but pure revulsion. But at what though? He wasn't sure. The other Ford? Stanley? Himself? It was just - the entire idea made him cringe. All of its implications. The imagery alone was sure to give him more nightmares than his usual set. He couldn't _imagine_ how his other self must feel.

But he didn't think he had to. The other Ford was holding himself tight, his mind lost in some horrific train of thought. Things had all gone downhill so fast. Had he really been laughing no more than a few days before? That felt like years ago.

He slumped further back, his entire being exhausted with the terror and sudden revelations and the outburst of himself and his companions. It was all so confusing, yet so telling and he knew he'd have too much to think about for a long while yet.

At the very least how much it reminded him of _his_ Stanley. And how thankful he was that he'd never landed with him in the portal. How much he desperately hoped Stan kept it closed. So that all of this madness never bled back into the real world.

Honestly he wasn't sure how Stan could even open it again. But in Gravity Falls anything was possible. So if he ever did - he realized just how furious it would probably make him. He just wanted _his_ Stanley to stay safe. To not cause the end of the _world_.

He looked over to his other self and then down at his hands.

Things were a mess. Stan had gone silent on the other side of the door a while ago, but that didn't exactly bode well either. They'd all messed up. _He'd_ messed up. He had to do something. Anything, really.

He took in a breath, then stood. He walked over to the huddled figure of his counterpart and held out a hand. Ford looked up at it with a wary gaze. AUFord gestured to it. Slowly his counterpart reached out and took hold with a six fingered grip. AUFord pulled him to his feet. Ford was shaking and AUFord put a steadying hand to his back.

He didn't know what he was doing, but he couldn't stand by and let the chaos that _he'd_ probably caused continue. A thought crossed his mind and he figured it was as good a place as any to start.

"I'm sorry," he said. He didn't know what he was apologizing for. For almost killing Stan? For their fist fight? For everything that happened to the two twins in the first place? But it seemed like the thing to say.

Ford looked at him with a searching gaze. Slowly he nodded. Ford didn't think it was AUFord's fault. He figured it was his really. He'd stopped being mad at anyone but himself when he realized that. But he appreciated the jester. Appreciated his counterpart's firm grip in his. It made the eyes around him waver for a moment.

The two heard a crash beyond the door. It sounded like shattered glass and then a cut off gasp of pain.

Ford's grip tightened, his eyes going wide.

 

***

 

"Stanley? Stan please ... let me in,"

His eyes jerked to the door. His hands were shaking, but the pain hadn't reached his brain. The ground was dripping with fresh blood. He felt like such a fool.

Another knock echoed against the metal. He bowed his head between shaking arms.

Glass littered the floor. The near full bottle had splattered across the ground. He didn't know why he'd done it. He'd just needed something to _hit_.

His shredded fingers were regretting that now. But behind it all, he welcomed the sting. It kept him steady. Kept him focused. He didn't want to open the door. Though the slight buzz clouding his mind made him forget why. That was kind of the point though, wasn't it?

Maybe if he closed his eyes. If he focused on the blood dripping down his hands. On the glass digging into his skin. If he forgot about whoever was knocking on the door -

"L-l-lee,"

He clenched his fists. Hot waves of pain shattered through him.

_Bad, idea. Bad idea!_

He pulled his fingers apart. The pain was unthinkable. He barely had time to bite down on his tongue before he let out a shout. His nerves were on fire. It was suddenly so much worse. Knives ripped through his veins. He couldn't understand. They were just cuts. Why did this hurt so much?

Why did any of it?

"Lee are you hurt?"

He grit his teeth and looked up. Ford was out there. Why? How? It didn't matter. But was he going to let him in?

He sat as still as he could - riding out the pounding throb. Maybe he _should_ open up. Maybe Ford was out there waiting with the blaster, ready to shoot. Maybe he actually would. In the state he was in, Stan could almost believe it.

Almost.

"L-let me in. I want to help. Please Lee. Open the d-d-door,"

Fords voice sounded small. It sounded weak, helpless, and laced with guilt. It sounded broken. Which was his fault. Ford only ever sounded like that when he was in trouble.

He was standing on the other side of the locked door, and he could hear Stan's inability to bite back his tears, and his hurt, and his pain. But it wasn't for lack of trying. He didn't _want_ Ford to hear him. It was all just so much.

The thoughts were swarming around in his mind. He kept replaying the fear in his brother's eyes and wondering why? What had he done? It was all so ridiculous. He hadn't done anything! But he'd been such an idiot. He couldn't keep his mouth shut, and his silver tongue had gotten him into trouble again.

It reminded him of a time back on earth - he almost laughed. Instead he smirked. Because it was all so stupid. He hated that any of it mattered. He was so angry. Angry at himself. Angry at his _hands_. Angry at why any of this was happening!

" ... Lee ... ?"

But he guessed it could be worse.

He'd _been through_ worse. He'd lived worse days. Thought worse thoughts. Felt worse. He had. No question. Only one thing made any of this better than anything before.

Ford.

He rose on trembling legs. The shards shifted in his hands and he gasped. Very carefully he walked forward. The splintered dust littered the ground around him. Reaching out he touched the lock. Red filled his vision as he flicked it open. He took in deep breaths, barely able to register the metal sliding away.

Ford stepped in and Stan heard his intake of breath.

"Stanley - !" he choked.

Stan leaned against the wall. He stared at Ford, anger and darkness burning through the ever growing ache. He'd done this to himself hadn't he? Why did Ford look so guilty? Why did he _always_ look so guilty?

Ford came in close, then stopped. He was wary. Stan didn't know if that was good or bad. All he could think about was the way Ford eyed him like an injured predator. His caution bordered on rude, but the fear behind his actions hurt more than anything. And as his brother stepped forward and delicately lifted his wrists to take a closer look, he swore that the sharp arrows of fire that jolted through him was no where near as painful as how clearly Ford winced. 

"S-Stanley. What did you d-do?" 

If Ford had said those same words in disappointment, Stan could have instantly relaxed. Then he'd have known that his condescending, smarty pants brother was alright. He wouldn't have heard the fear and the guilt. He wouldn't have withered under the horror filled gaze now burrowing through his soul. He wouldn't have recoiled. 

Blistering fire charged through him, but he stubbornly clasped his fists against his chest. He didn't need to say a word. Everything was apparent enough. The glass, the blood, the clouded look in his eyes - even the stench on his breath. 

"Stan, I-I'm so sor - ,"

"Don't," Stan growled. Ford's apologies was the last thing he wanted to hear right then.

Ford bit his tongue. Stan hated the defeated look in his brother's eyes. He sighed then held out his hands. Ford looked at him, the question clear in his gaze. Stan looked to the ground, but his bleeding fists - still wavering in the air - were answer enough.

Ford retrieved the medical kit. Carefully he took Stan and guided him to the floor. Stan's head swam with all the pain and the remnant of alcohol and the misery from everything going on. His legs gave out beneath him as he realized just how exhausted he'd become.

Ford took a set of tweezers and began removing the individual shards burrowed in his skin. Stan shivered under the cold steel, but it soothed the fire stretching across his fingers. He grit his teeth.

"Argh, that smarts,"

Ford bit his lip.

"T-the drink. You - it's not reacting well ... With - with you - your - it um ... ," Ford's hands were shaking.

A shard ripped across his skin as Ford tugged it in the wrong direction. He wrenched his hands away on instinct, but that only made everything worse.

He wished he could understand how the knife in his chest could be worse than the agony across his fingers, but it was. It always was. Every time Ford shrank back he remembered the cave and the nightmares and all the times Ford had looked at him with that look. The one that made him feel wretched for crushing something already so broken. 

He held back out his hands, but Ford wouldn't take them. He pushed them farther, almost shoving them into Ford's lap. He was running out of patience. 

Out of heart and hope and anything to drive him forward. He didn't know how much longer he could keep this up. He didn't know how long it would be till the inevitable fear would come. He was sure it would consumed him. It was all he could do to keep the thoughts at bay. He didn't want to think. He didn't want the unreasonable terror to flow over him. He didn't want to be afraid. He hated it so much, and he was just tired of it all.

"Would you just - stop that?" He was being harsh, but he didn't care. He was fed up. "Look I don't care alright? Isn't that what you want to hear? I don't care, I forgive you. Now just patch up my bloody hands Stanford!"

Ford stared at him miffed.

" I - ... y-you ... ," Ford didn't know what to say.

Stan's angry glare dropped and he had to look away.

"I don't care, okay? It just doesn't matter," 

Ford looked to the side.

"I know your upset Stan ... I ... ,"

Stan shook his head. He didn't want Ford thinking that. He wasn't mad at him. He just ...

"I'm not angry," 

Ford looked at him. Stan rolled his eyes.

"I'm _not_. I ... I'm really not. I  - ," Stan's teeth clenched. He'd been such an idiot, but maybe ... "What did I do? Just tell me what I _did_. I won't do it again Ford. I _promise_. I just - I don't want this,"

Ford put a hand over his face. Stan wasn't to blame. Ford was. How could he have made his brother feel so responsible?

"Stanley, no. This ... it wasn't your fault, it's mine. I'm so sorry - ,"

Stan huffed.

"Your doing it _again_. Never mind alright? Its done, lets just forget about it. Let's just _move on_ ," He didn't want to think about it for Ford to only making things worse. He didn't want to dwell on it with the pounding in his head and the ache behind his eyes. 

"Why?"

Stan looked up. Ford's face was filled with pain and confusion.

"Why don't you hate me Stan? Why can't you ever just hate me? Why do you always forgive me when I'm always hurting you?" Ford shook his head. "I don't understand Stanley - ,"

Stan ground his teeth. 

'Why'? Why was this so _hard_? Why did it _hurt_ so _bad_? Stan wanted to be angry. The boiling rage was spilling over. He didn't think it could burn so hot, yet somehow that quenched his own inner rage.

He was spilling. His insides sloshed and he realized he might be sick. He was drowning in his own inner heat. He was being burned alive and it ate him from the inside out. He needed a release. He needed a way to dig himself out of the lava filled trench that only grew wider with each passing moment. But he didn't know how. He didn't know what to do. 

"Ford - ," He felt strangled by his own words. He put a hand over his eyes and at that moment the physical pain was easy compared to the emotions cascading inside him. How could Ford not understand? How could his genius brother be so blind? Didn't he see how much Stan needed him? How else was he supposed to justify staying alive? Where else would he find a reason to actually _want_ to be _happy_? Who could inspire him to make every second count when any minute they could end up dead?

"Because it's worse," he hissed. 

Ford stared at him, but Stan had to take a second. He shut his eyes to block out the thoughts threatening to consume him. 

"Because it's so so much worse," he gulped than returned Ford's gaze. "Its worse alone Ford," he took in a shaky breath. He couldn't do it anymore. He could barely breath. He leaned down and put his head in his hands. He pulled at his hair, letting the sharp glass dig into his skin. Letting the lightning fly across his fingers to make him stop thinking. 

"S-S-Stanley ... ," Ford started.

Stan shook his head. He was still fighting to stay afloat. Still fighting against the pressure behind his eyes and the thoughts swirling in his mind. Somehow he was still alive, and somehow that was worse. Somehow he wished his splintered self would just shatter already.  But Ford was still here. And Ford still wanted him here. So Stan was still alive. Still fighting. Still grasping onto hope and life and the idea that maybe things could be better if only he lived through this one terrible moment first.

He didn't want to resist the urge to collapse. But as long as there was Ford, something inside him wasn't giving up. As much as he desperately ached for the end of it all, he still wouldn't stop caring, and hoping, and fighting - even if he just wanted it to stop. He needed it to stop. He needed help, but he didn't know where to look. 

"S-Stan ... you - you're getting blood ... i-in your ... ,"

Stan didn't move. He didn't reply or even try to acknowledge Ford. 

After a moment he felt Ford's hands on his as he delicately untangled Stan's fingers from his hair. He felt calmed by the movement, but it was offset by his brother's shaking. It felt like he was always shaking when he touched Stan now. Stan shivered.

"I'm sorry," He hated when he made Ford feel like that. 

Ford stopped. 

"W-what on earth are you s-s-sorry for?" Ford's expression was one of bewilderment. 

Stan looked at him darkly. Ford could feel Stan's hands tense and he gripped them harder to keep his brother from pulling away.

"S-Stan - ,"

For a moment the fire in his eyes returned. Then it quickly died down, and all that as left was bitterness.

"I hate this," he shook his head. "I hate feeling like this ... But I hate when you apologize more because not everything 's _your fault_ ," Stan tried to yank at his arms, but his brother held him tight.  

"S-so what? Are you saying it's ... what is it y-your fault?"

Was that what Stan was trying to say? He didn't know. But it wasn't ... it wasn't always _his_ fault! That idiot genius always blamed himself, but it wasn't always his _fault!_

Ford looked down at his six fingers on Stan's five. Stan saw the doubt in Ford's eyes and stayed quiet. He didn't know how to reply. As many times as he told Stanford to stop apologizing, and to stop blaming himself, or to stop worrying about everything that had happened between them - he knew his brother still wouldn't listen. He never did, and he just kept dwelling on it, and it only made them feel worse. He didn't know how to fix it, so he sat there and let the silence grow. 

Finally Ford sighed. He picked the tweezers back up and started to remove the glass. Stan was relieved. If he'd kept irritating it like that he might have lost a finger. With his luck, maybe even an arm - just because.

He was tired again. His stomach felt queasy. Probably because his whole body felt like it was on a roller coaster ride. Up and down, back and forth. Ford started to wipe away the blood. Stan's fists ached, the remnants of alcohol further seeping into his skin. Beneath the red he could see his hand had grown pale, with dark purple lines tracing through his veins. It didn't look good. Ford cleaned the cuts with some sort of alien liquid thing that stung. But it was cool to the touch and his shoulders relaxed. 

Ford sighed. 

" ... Stan?"

He looked over and Ford's eyes met his. 

"Yeah?"

Ford paused as if thinking. After a moment he started to put some things back into the med box.

"I um ... finished. I'm done,"

Stan blinked. He held up his hands. It looked like he was wearing gloves. He gave his fingers a tentative stretch as he flexed and balled a few soft fists. Every thing looked better. 

"Thanks," he murmured. 

Ford let out a breath.

"Stan ... you ... you need to know that you have nothing to be sorry for. You ... nothing is your fault," Ford shook his head. "You've never done anything wrong," 

"Bull-honky," 

Ford closed his eyes. 

"Stan - ," 

"It isn't your fault either Six - Ford. So cut it out, alright? I'm tired of it ," He was already drowning in his own problems. He couldn't stand being dragged down by Ford's as well. If only his brother would stop feeling so terrible _all_ _the_ _time!_ But that was his fault. Everything was all still so horrible, and he couldn't escape his part of the blame.

"Stan I'm s-sorry. I don't mean to make you  - ,"

"I'm tired of you being so upset all the time Ford! You keep blaming yourself, but why? What have you done? I mean really?"

"Stan please. I ... ," 

"I'm serious Si - Ford. What?"

"I-I-I - Please Stan, you know what,"

"I do know. And yeah. You've been a real jerk sometimes Ford. And yeah. I've been mad," Stan shook his head. "Really mad. And angry. And I was upset with you for a really long time, but you know what?"

Ford shrugged warily.

"I'll tell you what. I got over it," He gestured around the room. "Because all this? It's my fault. So I got over it. I shoved you through the portal. That was my justice. I did the worst thing I could think of and I banished you to a nightmare realm of stupid stuff and creeps that'll kill you. So now we're even. Alright?"

"Stanley - ," 

Stan could hear the condescension build in his brother's voice. It was infuriating, and he smiled ruefully. 

"Don't 'Stanley' me Ford,"

Ford didn't appreciate his joke. His deadpan look made Stan's smile - small as it was - drop. 

"Ford listen. It really isn't - ,"

"S-Stan. It isn't your fault. Falling into the portal _isn't_ your fault - ,"

"Well it sure isn't _yours_. So whose is it? _Someone_ has to take the blame," and it might as well be him. It might as well be Stan's fault after all the stupid mistakes he'd made. 

"It's no one's Stan,"

"Then why do you blame yourself so much?"

"Do you really have to ask? Really Stanley? After what I did ... to - to your ... ,"

"That wasn't your fault either," he growled. "We've been over this Ford. I - I don't care remember?" 

Because he didn't want to care. He didn't want to care. Because if he cared then he'd have to think about it and remember. Remember the heat and the pain, and that it was Ford who did that to him. That it was Ford who held him down. Ford - 

"You should care. You ... you  _do_ care. I know you do, so don't lie. Even now. Right now, the look on your face ... ," Ford grew quiet.

"What do you want from me Ford?"

"Nothing Stan - ,"

"Do you want me to forgive you? I can. I really can, I swear. If that's all it would take to make you stop - stop _this_ ,"

"No, Stan,"

"Your always so guilty Ford. But I am _too_. I don't get a free pass either Ford. You've made mistakes, and I ... I said I've forgiven all of them, so why can't you let it go?"

Ford rubbed a hand under his glasses.

"It's not that simple - ,"

"'Course it is! You always overthink this kind of stuff, but it isn't that complicated!"

Ford looked down. Was Stan right? Of course he was. And Ford _was_ guilty. Guilty for everything. It was all his fault. He wasn't Stan. He wasn't blameless by ignorance. Instead he had knowingly done so many things. Things he now regret. How could he not let his mind punish him for that?

Stan ran a hand through his hair.

"Honestly everything else doesn't bother me as much Ford. I know that's hard to understand. But it doesn't. It really doesn't. It's when you ... when you get the way you do. Ford I hate that. And I don't - don't know how much farther ... How much longer I can - go on like this," he gulped. "Ford I can't. I've been trying so hard, but I can't. You - you're - ," Stan sighed as he trailed off.

"Stanley I ... ," Ford reached out a hand, then stopped. 

Stan looked completely worn out. He looked tired and frayed. Ford had done this. He knew Stan meant it when he said he couldn't keep it up. Ford wasn't sure how he'd kept going this long already. He needed to be there for his brother. The way Stan felt right now. Ford had done that to him, but he still needed to be there for Stan. But Stan wouldn't accept his apologies. He didn't know what else to do. He didn't know what other way to make things better. 

To make _this_ better. This thing between them. The one they always tried to ignore. The one that led to all of _this_. The problem that needed to be fixed with the solution he had yet to find.

"Stan ... what are we supposed to do?" Ford bit his lip. "What am _I_ supposed to do?" He laid his hands bare. "Tell me what to do Stan. Please, anything. I just want to fix this. To fix us. To fix _me_ ,"

"If I knew that, don't you think I would have told you already? But I don't. I - I can't help you. I _can't_ help - I've stretched my useless brain farther than it can go,"

"I wish you would be easier on yourself Stan,"

"That's rich coming from you,"

Ford frowned. He leaned forward to touch Stan's arm, but Stan drew away.

"No. I - I don't want you - your help. I can't - I won't let you ... not if you won't listen to me,"

Ford looked at him. He bit his lip. He was doing everything he could. He was always trying his hardest, but Stan was so stubborn. Even now. Even when he felt so low, when his spirit was so beaten. He was still so stubborn. Ford could tell it took enormous strength for Stan to keep it all together. Despite Stan's confessions of weakness and inability, he was still the strong one. He was still fighting against it all.

What could _he_ do? How could Ford fix this? Stan was alone. He was holding Ford up, and the more he crumbled beneath everything thrown at him, the more Ford felt himself break too. What could he do to help? To fix things?

Stan let his eyes wander.

"I wish you'd just forgive yourself Ford. I mean really. It's ... it's more of a problem than you realize, and if you would just forgive _yourself_ ... !" Stan took in a few calming breaths. "Then maybe - ," he mumbled. "- maybe I could ... ," Could what? 

Stan closed his eyes as he let his own words sink in. Ford's guilt was always there. Always ripping into him. From the moment they left the cave it had been like sandpaper on his mind. Slowly wearing him down. Somehow his reliance on Ford had weakened him the most.

Ford stared at Stan. Something had clicked in his mind. 

"I ... ,"

Stan looked up at him with a tired expression.

"I-I can't," he clenched his fists as he realized what that meant.

Stan frowned. 

But Ford couldn't. Despite everything, he realized he couldn't. At least - not on his own. Not having the courage to look Stan in the eye, he muttered the words, " ... I - help me,"

Stan's expression softened.

He saw his brother and he saw the pain he was in. The pain he was always in because of things out of his control. 

He reached out to pull Ford closer and threw his arms around him, catching his brother off guard. In his momentary surprised, Ford sat frozen. But his limbs filled with warmth and he returned the gesture. He could feel the tension rippling through Stan, and he closed his eyes. His grip tightening as he clung to his brother. They held each other fast in a long embrace. 

When Stan finally sat up to move away, Ford swallowed. He looked all around himself, and then at Stan. He pursed his lips, and then in a moment of thoughtless action, he pulled Stan back to him, wrapping his arms around his brother. Doubtful thoughts of indecision flowed through his mind till Stan slipped under his arms and Ford relaxed. He focused on his breathing and felt apreciation as his brother settled beside him.

Stan came in close, finding quiet comfort against Ford's surprisingly stable form. He felt fingers brush through his hair, and soon the steady rhythmic motion had him relaxed as he let it ease his troubled mind. 

In a moment Stan realized he wasn't afraid. He wasn't frightened. Not of Ford. He realized that he hadn't been scared this whole time. Not even with AUFord pointing the blaster in his face. Sure, he feared for his _life_. But that wasn't the same. He wasn't scared of Ford. He was just scared _for_ Ford. He thought that might be better. He thought he might be getting better.

But there was still so much wrong between them. 

With a burst of hope, he thought that maybe it was like his eyes. Maybe they were healing. Maybe one day Stan would see just fine again, and maybe Ford would too. Maybe Ford could look around without catching a glimpse of the madness. Maybe Stan could look at Ford without seeing overwhelming guilt.

Stan still hadn't forgotten earlier. Or the caves. Or that night he got kicked out of the house. He didn't think he could ever forget. But he did think he forgave Ford. Maybe it was time for Ford to forgive himself. Because then maybe the two of them could move forward. Then maybe this weight they each held could stop being a barrier acting to keep them apart. Maybe then they could finally move past this and grow closer, and help each other overcome their nightmares without having to feel guilty for causing them.  

They sat in each others arms, each thinking about a lifetime of mistakes and regrets.

"Stan ... ?" Ford paused in his movements, hand wavering in his brother's hair.

"Mm,"

" ... I need to tell you something. There's something you need to know," he bit his lip. Bill. He needed to tell Stan about Bill. But as he went to open his mouth, nothing came out. He still couldn't do it. Even after everything. 

Stan senesed his brother's distress and reached for the six fingered hand not frozen on his head. He squeezed it lightly, giving Ford his reassurance.

Ford squeezed it back and found the voice to continue.

"But ... not yet. I - I can't yet. I'm still not ready,"

Stan was silent until Ford saw his head nod. Ford frowned.

"But soon," he pursed his lips. "So please ... don't - don't let me forget. Not again. Okay?"

Stan frowned, but nodded

"Alright," He mumbled. " ... I won't,"

Ford looked down at Stan in his arms. He held him tighter and resumed running his fingers through his hair. 

They both closed their eyes and decided to let the harmful thoughts of the past slip away has they found strength in the other's presence. Both still felt tired, and both still felt a nagging ache deep in their chest. But it wasn't as bad as before, and they could feel it slowly receding as they realized they wouldn't have to shoulder the pain alone. 

 

***

 

He wondered about what his Stanley was doing right now. He often thought about it. Sometimes his imagination would run away with him and he'd picture Vegas, casinos, and other wild trips. Other times his mind would go blank as he realized for the hundredth time how little he knew about his brother anymore.

And it didn't help that every time he thought of earth, that he pictured warm showers, cozy beds, and - he hated himself for it - but cheeseburgers. What he would give for a cheeseburger. He didn't know why. He didn't even like them. He'd had much better cuisine in some of the dimensions he'd visited. But there was something about it. It was so ridiculously 'earth' that it hurt.

AUFord heard the twins soft murmurs as he watched the stars twinkling across space. The familiar feeling of loneliness setting in.

As he sat there he wished Stanley was with him. It was a strange feeling. To miss his brother. After all the bad blood between them. But times like now it hit him hard.

He reached into his coat and pulled out a photo. He couldn't fathom how he'd kept track of it so long. The old thing was a little torn, but it's familiar image was clear as day. He tapped the top thoughtfully.

He wanted to see Stan again. Some day. And that made everything so much worse. Because he couldn't. He knew he could never see his brother ever again. He let his hands drop and looked at the stars.

Never was a long time.

A flashing light caught his eye and AUFord glanced down.

Something was blinking on the radar.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's about it. I want to add one more chapter to tie off things I think feel a bit like 'loose ends', but this is mostly it. Thanks for reading.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes  
> * Wrapping things up  
> * Loose ends  
> * "necessary" Fluff  
> * Things I should have put earlier for minor understanding   
> * (But it didn't seem to flow right before, so here it is now)

"We have a problem!"

Ford opened his eyes and stared at Stan. His brother returned his gaze and they both eyed the front.

"Stanford I need you up here!"

Ford bit his lip, but Stan rose to his feet. He offered a hand to his brother and Ford took it with a grateful nod. They both went over and we're surprised to see a large white disc in the window.

It's brightness clashed with the darkness of space, and it's flickering aura grew steadily stronger. The ground tilted underneath them. The twins fell to the side, falling over each other.

AUFord glanced back at them.

"It just appeared out of nowhere. Take the controls. We need to turn or it'll rip us to shreds,"

Ford's eyes widened. He picked himself up and raced to his seat. Stan looked out the window in confusion.

"What is that thing?"

AUFord's gaze flickered to Stan, then he faced forward.

"An inter-dimensional rip. We can't get near or it'll suck us in,"

The entire ship lurched. Stan lost his balance and fell. He put a fist to his temples, the whole world spinning even after he steadied. The control panel flashed a purple pentagon and a loud siren rang out. Stan covered his ears at the noise.

Ford looked back. The ship tossed to the right and AUFord threw his hands on the steering.

"Keep your hold! I - I've got him,"

Ford looked at Stan warily, but jerked his head forward as a sudden wave of turbulence rocked them off kilter. Through the chaos AUFord wobbled over to Stan and held pick him up. Together they made their way to his back seat and he sat Stanley down. Before AUFord could strap Stan in, he waved him off.

"I got it,"

AUFord paused, then shrugged and faced forward. The ship flew off balance and AUFord teetered as he struggled to stumble into his chair. He clicked in and saw Ford doing the same - one hand always on the controls.

The alarm blared through their ears as the three passengers were thrown side to side.

"It's headed straight for us!"

"Trying ... to turn," Ford gritted through clenched teeth.

"No, it's _literally_ heading for us,"

AUFord was right. They were racing to the left, but the huge glowing white empyreal disc turned with them.

Stan watched as the bright circle grew till it filled his entire vision. Ford tried to flip completely around, but the whole ship creaked with the strain. Their chairs shook - each of them holding their breath.

Suddenly the siren grew in pitch, it's noise becoming sharper and sharper till it was gone all together - the tone high like a dog whistle. Their brains ached and every molecule in their body stretched, rearranged, and then froze.

***

They were crashing. They re-entered existence in the gravitational pull of a planet. Their engines were shot and they fell like a rock in water. When they came out of their daze, the siren added a flashing purple light - as if they needed another reminder of their impending doom.

But what was worse was when the ship tilted and they were sent spinning like a toy top in the clouds. Stan focused on containing the contents of his stomach. Behind them they heard a screeching rip. The pressure dropped as the back detached from the front and flew off in another direction. Ford gave up on using the controls and put a hand against his lightheaded dizziness. They gasped to breath what little of the frigid air was left, their ears popping as the pressure of the atmosphere decreased and then increased as they got closer to the ground.

The roof above them flew up and the Fords watched as it flapped violently back and forth. The floor beneath them cracked open and a line appeared between the two sides of seats. Metal wiring was the only thing keep the left side with Ford in the pilot's seat from ripping away from AUFord and Stan on the right.

The roof ripped off and the violent tug sent them flipping in reverse. It was like a monster roller coaster ride and Stan kept his eyes shut, holding fast to the edges of his chair.

Ford's seat lurched and his eyes widened before he flew away from the ship and headed off into he sky. Without thinking AUFord reached out a hand to grab his counterpart, but was too late before he was cascading away. AUFord's seat heaved with the movement and he quickly jerked back. His eyes spun as he watched the ground and the sky appear and disappear above him in senseless motion. Then a yellow fixture appeared against the blue and AUFord squinted.

He gasped then looked around himself. There on the side of his seat he found what he was looking for. He went to pull it then looked back and remembered Stan. He still had his eyes squeezed shut and AUFord yelled to him,

"Stanley - !"

But his voice was lost in the wind and Stan couldn't hear him. He heard metal snap. AUFord realized he didn't have time. He leaned over and grabbed at the side of Stan's chair. Stan opened an eye and looked at him in confusion. AUFord fell forward and the motion ripped him into the air. He held on tight, spinning and falling and coming up to the ground as he looked out. He reached his hand down and found something already there. It was Stan's chair's handle - completely yanked away. He looked around himself and now saw _two_ yellow dots floating above him. He tossed Stan's yellow piece aside and grabbed his own - ripping it up. His chest yanked against the belt that strapped him to his seat. It would probably leave a bruise, but he let out a sigh of relief as he looked up at his own parachute billowing into the air. He looked down and saw the remaining pieces of the ship breaking apart and crashing to the ground below. 

***

AUFord breathed in and out, heart slowing as he got his bearings and then looked around. The planet's air seemed to be breathable which made sense. The floor was filled with green vegetation and an abundance of jungle trees and bushes. He guessed he was maybe still half a mile up and took the time to catch his breath that grew easier and easier as he drifted down. He saw one of the yellow dots floating above him and another off to the side. Both were a good distance away and he internally groaned at the trek ahead of him. But for now he sat in his seat and breathed.

***

Stan was still gripping his chair as tight as he could. He focused all his efforts on not looking down. Any minute his straps could give way and he could fall to his death. Or the parachute that had suddenly yanked him out of the wreckage of the falling ship could get a hole and he could fall to his death. Or he could unstrap himself just because and he could fall to his death. Or a giant alien bird could snatched him away and he could fall to his death. Or his seat could magically disappear and he could fall to his death.

Stan gulped. With each passing second his odds looked worse and worse. He didn't think he was gonna make it.

***

Something jostled his seat and his eyes flew open - very much expecting that alien bird to have gotten him - but instead found himself surrounded by green. He calmed down and looked at the tree he was stuck in. Then he caught sight of the ground a few feet below and froze. He squeezed his eyes shut again and pretended he was still miles in the air.

Something rubbed against his arm and he looked to see a large snake slithering closer. He grimaced but waited for it to pass by - unsure if disturbed, that it might bite him with some weird, poisonous alien fangs.

He heard a squeak above his head. He looked up and saw a fluffy brown squirrel. Sharp fangs ran against the trunk of the tree like it was sharpening it's teeth. But it was getting precariously close to the rope balancing him from the parachute.

"Shoo! Go away! Get out of here!" He wasn't sure where he got the strength to voice his frustration, but he was too rattled not to vent at the thing.

The squirrel stopped and tilted it's head to gaze at him with an innocent stare.

"Yeah you! Get away from there!"

The creature hopped forward. It looked from Stan's angry movements to the rope.

"Don't touch those - !"

The squirrel gave the rope a testy nick with its teeth.

"Stop that!"

It let out a low whine that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

"Hey - !"

But the squirrel finished chomping through the strands and Stan pitch forward in his seat. He found himself face down - the ground seeming to stretch out below him.

"A-alright, ha ha. Very funny - but  _get away_ ," he grit his teeth.

The squirrel caught sight of the other ropes caught in the branches. It skittered over to them and hastily chewed it's way through. It barely finished one rope before moving on to the next.

"Demon squirrel! Knock it off! I swear when I - !"

His chair slipped through the trees, and caught on a branch. His straps gave way, and he fell out to the forest floor below.

He landed on his back, the wind knocked out of him. He groaned. Blinking open an eye, he stared at the sky above him. His whole body ached. He breathed in and tried to sit up, but slipped and fell back.

"uh, oh, ow," he moaned. " ... Everything hurts,"

He was too tired to move. He looked up at his yellow parachute of death. At the trees high above him and the sky beyond that. He sighed, turned over, and closed his eyes. He was exhausted and figured this place would be as good as any to pass out.

***

Ford watched AUFord and Stan disappear beneath the green canopy of the forest. He was so much higher up, but he didn't dared try and quicken his descent. Instead he focused on judging which parachute was Stanley's. After lots of second guessing he came to a (fairly) solid conclusion and eyed out a path to reach him the quickest. When he got close the ground, he clicked out of his seat and made his way down the tree and onto the grass below. He took a look around, scanned his surroundings, and then headed forward. 

Ford didn't let himself think about anything more than avoiding the overgrown roots as he made his way closer to Stan.

***

Regroup. They needed to regroup. 

Probability of survival generally rose with numbers (though personally he felt that followed a bell curve) and he didn't see any reason not to stick with the twins. 

He mapped out their positions in his mind. His counterpart was closer, but he decided to head towards Stanley. He figured that's where the other Ford would head first too. 

He noted the landing had been surprisingly successful. He took out his notebook that was tucked away in his jacket and made a few notes of the dimensional rift, what it felt like passing through, and any overall comments on this new location that seemed hospitable enough for organic life. 

He looked over at the sound of a bird. It's strange 'coo' that matched its colorful feathers. He kept walking forward, but sketched out it's picture. Questions ran through his mind as he observed the varied beauty of his surroundings. 

***

When he finally woke up again it was night. 

Either that or his sight had plunged him back into darkness, but he could see the thin slit of a waning moon so there went that idea. It was good thing too because his head was killing him. Nowhere near as bad as before thankfully, but still annoying. He wiggled his fingers, unreasonably grateful that their injury had led to him not drinking the rest of the bottle. What's more was this time he remembered most of the day from before. He was only slightly thrown off guard to be outside in the wide open - instead of stuck in the confining walls of the ship. It felt good. 

He breathed in the night air, not bothering to move. He couldn't fall back asleep, but stayed still as he rode out the worst of his hangover. The chilled breeze brushed against his face, but the rest of him was surprisingly warm. Those new clothes were really paying off. 

Something tickled his nose and he reached up an arm to scratch it. Something around him shifted and he froze. Opening an eye he turned his head and looked besides him. 

He sat up with a jerk, causing his head to jolt in pain.

"Demon squirrels," he whispered, and put a hand to his aching head. 

There were dozens of them. They scurried all over, slowly coming to a stop and looking his way with bright green eyes reflecting the moonlight. He stayed perfectly still, trying not to panic. Their jaws stretched wide as if to let out some high pitched yell and he saw all of their sharp teeth glisten. They closed their mouths only to stare at him. 

He watch, his heart racing as they stepped closer. One jumped onto his chest and he fell back. 

"Gah! Get off me," He scrambled back, but didn't dare try to move them.

They all ran across his body, and then surprisingly, laid down and wound themselves into tight fluffy balls. Another opened its mouth for a yell, until Stan realized it was _yawning_. 

He let out an exasperated sigh. 

_Fluffy demon squirrels that want to cuddle ... I - I don't even know how to respond to this._

They all gathered around and then closed their eyes.

He shook his head, then decided not to worry about it too much. He still wasn't in the mood to sleep, but he _was_ tired, so he stayed quiet and waited out the night. Despite their appearances he wasn't sure if the squirrels wouldn't bite off his arm if he tried to get rid of them, and their thick fur was keeping him surprisingly warm. 

***

He must have fallen asleep again because when he woke up it was morning and all of the demon squirrels were racing away from him. He blinked in confusion then looked around.

He scrambled to his feet - nearly falling over himself as he backed up.

Standing in front of him was a some sort of dinosaur. It's head looked like one of those hammer shark things and it's feet were as big as an elephants. He ran away as fast as he could, and tripped over a root - distracted by a yowl behind him. He looked back and saw a huge purple tiger, lion, cat thing jumping onto the dino's back. It's claws ripped into tough hide and his eyes widened as the faint image of a liquid blue went everywhere. 

He got back up and raced away. 

***

Finally he stopped, putting a hand on his chest. He leaned against a tree and took a deep breath. This place was insane. 

Something rustled in the leaves behind him. He froze and then was barreled over. Something was on top of him and he lashed out. His fist connected and he heard a groan. 

"Stanley! Stanley Pines it's me!"

He stopped and peered at his attacker. 

"AU?" 

AUFord scrambled to his feet, holding his shoulder where Stan had hit him.

"Yes, now run!"

Stan looked around confused, but AUFord grabbed his arm and tugged him forward. They raced away and suddenly Stan was aware of another presence. Something was crashing through the undergrowth - soundless, but very much there. 

AUFord led him to a set of trees and motioned for him to climb. Stan looked up and then jerked back. 

"Um, no thanks,"

AUFord shoved him to the ground and he felt something sail over his head. 

"Get up the tree Stanley!"

Stan held up his hands in surrender and quickly scaled it's trunk. He didn't look down as AUFord ducked in defense of some invisible thing, then raced up with him. AUFord grabbed his arm and urge him to go higher. He started to shake, but closed his eyes and followed. The branches got thinner and Stan wanted to stop. AUFord looked down, shook his head and urged him on. 

Finally they reached as high as the tree would let them go and they slowed. Stan gripped the thin trunk with white knuckled fists and focused on his breathing. 

"What on earth AU," he gasped.

AUFord was looking down, eyes worried, but still bright with curiosity. 

"I was right, it's not climbing up after us," then he turned and looked at Stan. "Why didn't you move? It was right behind you!"

"What?" he looked down. The ground stretched out beneath him and he squeezed his eyes shut. He shook his head.

"I don't know what you're talking about. When are we gettin' down?"

"What? What are you - oh wait, Stanley. I'm so sorry. I completely forgot,"

"Yeah whatever," he clenched his teeth. What if the branch broke? He'd slip and fall to his death. What if his hands let go? He'd slip and fall to his death. What if that alien bird came round? He'd slip and fall to his death. "W-what are we hiding from?"

AUFord pursed his lips. 

"Didn't you see it?"

"No. I didn't," and he wasn't much inclined to see anything right now. Not the ground, not the creature they were running from, not AU sitting besides him way high up in the tree that could be struck by lightening, sending it crashing to the ground below. Making him slip and fall to his death. "What's the probabilitory of lightning AU?"

"The ... probability?"

"Yeah, that"

"Of lightning?"

"Yeah," he swallowed, making sure to keep his eyes firmly shut.

"Right now one percent. It's perfectly clear out, why would there be lightning?"

He bit his lip. One percent? That was low right? But one percent - that meant there was a chance. And a chance meant lightning could strike, and their tree could fall, and he could slip and fall to his death! 

He shivered. 

***

He wanted to kiss the ground, but felt that might be unwarranted, and also _really_ didn't feel like kissing the ground. Apparently the thing that had been chasing them had been another cat like creature with green camouflaged fur that blended in with the undergrowth too well for Stan to see. If it wasn't for AUFord he would've been mince meat - or worse. He tried not to think about that and instead focused on Ford who was wandering around the forest somewhere. He focused on the hazy memories from the day before and on Ford's (more or less) promise to try. He figured he could do at least as much when it came to own doubts and insecurities. But the thick jungle and his blurred vision wasn't helping his morale.

AUFord was looking around them, trying to gain their bearings and figure out which direction they came from. 

"I think it was this way," he turned and then pointed in the opposite direction. "So that means we should head that way," 

From where he sat on the ground, Stan nodded. AUFord looked down at him. 

"Hey, Stanley?"

Stan blinked.

"Yeah?" 

"I uh, - wanted to apologize. About before. Sorry," 

"Don't worry about it. The tree wasn't _that_ bad," he was lying of course. Every second connected to the ground beneath him was another second of heaven. 

"That's not what I meant,"

Stan leaned back and looked away.

"Yeah, I know," it wasn't his Ford, and yet once again it felt just as bad. Curse the universe, curse Ford, curse everything! "Here, help me up," he reached out a hand. 

AUFord reached down and pulled Stan to his feet - when suddenly _he_ was on the ground, head in a daze. He was shocked. Stan just punched him!

"That's for jabbing me in the face you jerk,"

AUFord rubbed his jaw, his whole chin sore. The vague memory of when he first saw Stan back on the Space Station came to mind.

"I guess I deserved that," he looked up and saw Stan holding out a hand. He grabbed it and Stan pulled him to his feet. 

Stan clapped a hand on his shoulder, looking him in the eyes. 

"No - You didn't," then he smiled. "I'm just a jerk too," he patted his back and stepped away. "So which direction did you say?"

AUFord looked at him with a strange expression. A moment later he shrugged. He supposed that was the closest thing to forgiveness he was going to get. 

"That way," 

"Well than lets get going. Time's a wastin',"

AUFord paused another second, then led the way.

***

AUFord eyed the luminescent vegetation that mingled with the mostly green. Somehow vibrant colors were hidden in absurd abundance, and he couldn't understand what made his eyes glance right over them to take in only the one hue. Stan was silent besides him as he picked his way across the roots. AUFord kept his ears perked and his eyes peeled, but for now they seemed to be relatively safe. 

"Stanley,"

"Yeah," 

"I've been thinking about your eyes. The vast multiverse is covered in incredibly advanced technology. I think there should be something to help bring your sight back to full capacity if you only looked hard enough. Something like laser eye surgery, but more advanced and less corrective. In fact if you work with the nervous system then there's a 70 percent higher chance - ,"

"Yeah I know,"

AUFord stopped. 

"You do ... ?"

"Yeah," Stan kept walking. He looked back, then stopped when he realized AUFord wasn't coming. He shrugged. "Six - Poindexter already thought of that. We were looking into it in some city place before we got caught up with the ... Telekrackien? Thing? I don't know. We'll probably get around to it next time we find - I don't know what. Civilization? _Something_. That's poindexter's area," he shrugged again, then kept walking. 

AUFord's nose twitched. 

He walked forward until he saw a brilliant purple flower in front of them. Stan got close and suddenly it's petals opened to reveal teeth. AUFord's eyes widened as he realized Stanley didn't notice it. 

He lurched forward and pushed him out of the way, just as the deceitful flower sprang at Stan.

***

"AUStan?"

"Eh?"

"I don't see why I'm the one from the alternate universe,"

"Because I saw you first,"

"Technically that's not true,"

"Because there's more of us than you, and I'm the one who came up with it,"

"Yes, but I've been thinking Stanley - ,"

"You do way too much of that,"

" - But I've been thinking, and I actually think it makes more sense when my dimension is the original - or at least one of the few (I'm still working on my multi-dimensional theories) - and that my dimension the one others stem from," 

" ... your full of it,"

"Stanley! I'm serious,"

"If you don't want me calling you AU, you can just say so,"

"That's not what I'm trying to explain,"

"Good. 'Cause I wasn't going to stop calling you AU,"

" ... Right,"

Stan was silent. 

"But don't you think it makes more sense spacial-displacements-wise that my universe could be the original, so if yours is merely an off shoot, then the effect of your existence is far less encompassing?"

" ... I'm not going to stop calling you AU,"

"That's not what I meant Stan," 

"Well I'm not," 

"Why do I keep forgetting how insufferably annoying you are?"

"Maybe you aren't as smart as you think,"

AUFord rolled his eyes with a sigh. 

"Alright, fine. If you're going be difficult about it then I guess we'll just walk in silence,"

Stan didn't reply. 

AUFord frowned. He turned to looked at their scenery. It continued to be an immensely interesting image.

"Alternate Universe or Parallel Universe?"

AUFord blinked. 

"Either one would work I guess,"

Stan smirked. 

"Then 'maybe you aren't as smart as you think' PUFord," 

AUFord's brow furrowed in confusion. 

"I don't understand," 

"I guess not. You're too busy cutting the cheese ... PUFord," 

AUFord let his gaze wander around. He still didn't understand and spent the time pondering it. 

Stan let the quiet hang in the air. 

A while later it click. 

"Hey wait a second - !"

***

AUFord ran straight into Stan's frozen figure. He rubbed his still aching jaw and turned to look at Stanley, worried. 

But Stan's face was lit up with a wide smile. 

"Oie! Poindexter!" he cupped his hands and shouted out.

AUFord followed Stan's gaze and saw his other self off in the distance. 

"Your shoe 's untied!"

His other self looked over at them. AUFord saw a smile grow on his counterpart face. Ford glanced left and right before running in their direction. They walked forward to close the distance. 

"Not wearing laces," Ford smirked as he came up to them. 

Stan laughed. 

"You might as well be," he put a hand over his brother's shoulder. "You run like a prancing gazelle," 

Ford frowned, but AUFord could still see the small smile underneath.

"No I don't,"

"Don't kid yourself. It's adorable,"

Ford rolled his eyes. 

"I - I see your doing alright then?"

"I ran into these demon squirrels. They were crazy. They had these super long teeth, and at night their eyes almost glowed like an alley cat. I woke up and dozens of them were all around me like - ,"

AUFord watched the brother's reunion at an arm's length. Stanley started talking on and on about one thing or another, catching up on the past day's events. Which, fair enough were eventful, but it was a strange change from the long silence they'd fallen into as they walked. 

It wasn't until just then that he realized Stanley Pines was different with his brother. When he thought about it made sense. He was like that back on the Space Station too. He wondered how much of it was inter-dimensional differences, and how much of that was inherently Stan. He wondered if it even mattered anymore. He hadn't been close with his Stanley in ages. Even if he had been before falling into the portal, he wouldn't ever see him again.

He fiddled with his six fingers as he waited. His nose twitched. 

"Heya, AU?"

He looked up to see Stan staring at him.

"High or low?"

"Stan, t-there is no l-low,"

AUFord looked at the twins in confusion. 

"What?"

Stan pointed up.

"Are we heading up the mountain, or somewhere else?"

AUFord looked up at the tall hill protruding from the surface of the planet. He frowned.

"Metaphorically speaking, those with the high ground generally have better survival rates - ,"

"High it is!"

"Y-you didn't really give him a c-choice - ,"

"Off we go!" Stan grabbed Ford's arm and started dragging him forward. 

AUFord shrugged and followed. He watched Stanley talk and bounce around - seemingly his usual self. But what was usual Stanley? He was concerned that he didn't know. He tried to remember the boy he knew as a kid. He supposed that this happy persona might be as real as not, but the memory of his face when he'd pointed the blaster at him appeared in his mind. 

It was the fearful and worried look of his brother. The Stanley he knew and cared about. Not bill. Not some impostor from another universe. 

He watched his other self. His counterpart that stood by and seemed to just accept all of Stan's eccentric nature. If he had been anyone else he would have marveled at how well Ford was able to deal with him. But AUFord knew it was more than that. He remembered long summer days on the beach. He remembered letting his Stanley guide him into adventure. He remembered him taking his mind off of tests, and anxiety, and things that when it came down to it, didn't really matter. Without Stan he wouldn't have understood how amazing it felt to take a moment from living in his head, and to get out into the world to _do_ things. 

What was he supposed to without Stan now?

"Oie, Au?"

He looked over at Stanley. 

"Yes?"

"How many Stanfords does it take to beat Stanley Pines in a race?"

AUFord frowned. 

"I don't know,"

"Stanley don't - ,"

"Zero. Because you can't," Stan turned on his heel and ran off. 

Ford sighed, then chased after him. 

"S-Stan! It's not s-safe!"

AUFord followed his counterpart. 

Already far ahead, Stan flashed them a cheeky grin. His eyes strayed from the path in front of him and he tripped over a root. The Fords stopped and winced as Stan crashed to the jungle floor, face planting into the ground hard. 

Ford closed the rest of the distance and ran up to his brother's still figure, his features a single expression of worry. 

"L-lee. Are you o-okay?"

Stan held a thumbs up and moaned. 

"Peachy," he didn't bother lifting his face from the dirt. 

AUFord snorted. 

"I know the answer now,"

Ford looked at him confused. AUFord rolled his eyes.

"Zero," he pointed down at Stan. "Because you'll crash,"

The Fords laughed, but Stan growled at him.

"Your jokes are lousy,"

***

Stan complained about a lack of ice, and Ford reasoned they were on a tropical planet, where the temperature and humidity might never drop below 15 degrees Celsius. Stan proceeded to yell at him for using the metric and that he should just say it in Fahrenheit like a normal American and stop being such a communist Nazi.

AUFord replied that that was rude, racist, and historically incorrect because the Nazis were originally a political party against communism ideals - until Stan interrupted him saying, "I don't _care_. I just want _ice_ , you nerd," after which AUFord rolled his eyes and fell silent as Stan continued to complain.

Right up until a few minutes later when they were met by a trio of colorful cats that Stan could barely see, and AUFord wondered curiously how they had evolved into such excellent predators. Stan grab their arms and turned to run, until Ford yanked him back. First to keep him from smacking straight into a tree, second because he turned to face their attackers and pulled out a blaster. Ford turned the barrel of the gun and pulled the trigger three times.

The shots rang out, followed by yelps of pain, and then they stood in silence.

"Are ... they dead?" Stan's eyes were glancing around the forest floor, unable to discern what had happened.

"Stunned I think," AUFord turned to his counterpart. "I had wondered where that went,"

Ford looked at the blaster. He spun it in his hand and offered the handle to AUFord.

"Forgot to r-return it,"

AUFord nodded his head, taking his gun back and putting it in his jacket for safe keeping.

"You had that thing this whole time and you didn't even tell me? I want to look at it. AU, my turn right?"

"Not a chance,"

"What? Why not?"

"You can't see for one - ,"

"So?"

***

Ford had convince AUFord that they didn't need a fire. He argued it would only attract predators, and that they hadn't needed it when they were split up the night before, so why use one now? AUFord consented and when the sky turned dark they found a place to stop and laid down in the grass.

Stan mumbled something about goose feathers and AUFord could help but smile at the thought. Soft pillows and and a comfy bed would be a welcome commodity - especially since the last planet he'd been on owned little more than primitive huts. The month on the ship had grown tiring, and the three of them enjoyed the open fresh air. Soon Stan's heavy breathing could be heard against the forest's night time orchestra, and AUFord followed suit.

But Ford couldn't sleep. It hadn't mattered as much the night before. He'd simply kept walking till he was too exhausted to go any further, and then sat down and closed his eyes till the sun rose. But his mind wouldn't stop racing. He couldn't get the the thousands of thoughts passing by to leave him alone. Things like the color of some rock, all the way to a joke Stanley had made earlier. He focused on the trivial things, but despite his best efforts, memories of the ship came to the forefront of his mind.

He stared at the stars twinkling in the sky. An unfamiliar set of constellations on an unfamiliar world. Slowly the celestial bodies shifted as the night wore on. Ford didn't think he was going to be able to sleep, but he laid still as his own inner commentary dictated the passing hours.

When the small crescent of the moon was directly overhead, Ford heard a distinct rustle separate from the forest sounds. He strained his ears to listen, but the quiet movement left as soon as it came.

He looked up and imagined the brilliant balls of flame light-years away. He thought of how big the universe was.

"Ford?"

He blinked at the faint whisper.

"You awake?"

He turned his head to Stanley, but his brother's back was facing him. He looked sound asleep. When Ford didn't hear anything more he turned away, worried he'd only imagined the voice in his mind.

More movement made him turn to see Stan sitting up and rubbing a hand over his face. His brother leaned against a tree and squinted at the moon, unaware of Ford's eyes on him.

" ... Lee,"

Stan glanced his way. A shaky smile spread across his face.

"You still awake? Yeesh Ford. Get some sleep,"

Ford slowly sat up too.

" ... Bad dream?"

Stan's smile dropped and he shrugged his shoulders, but his silence was answer enough. His eyes trailed away from Ford as he examined the dark depths of the forest.

Ford wrapped his arms around his legs and laid his head on his knees. He wondered what Stan had been dreaming about. Was it the cave again? Or was it the night he'd been kicked out? Maybe it was a mash-up of things from their ten years estrangement. He had those sometimes. Or maybe it was just another dream of Ford. Ford in the cave. Ford back in Jersey. Ford here in the portal. It didn't matter. Those were always the worst.

Stan glanced back at him and then rose to his feet. He made his way over and sat down next to him.

"What's eating ya poindexter? Can't figure out how big Infinity is?"

Ford smiled despite himself.

"Something like that,"

They talked in hushed whispers. Each aware of the many living, breathing things neither wanted to disturb.

Stan bumped his shoulder.

"Get some sleep. If you pass out on me tomorrow, I'm not carrying you,"

It was an empty threat. Which should have made it all the more comical, but he couldn't help keep his mind away from the other day. He never understood how Stanley recovered from things like this so fast. He was glad his brother could sit there and joke, but it somehow felt premature.

Stan leaned against Ford's tree with him.

"Ain't you - ," Stan yawned. " - tired, poindexter?"

"Mm,"

He knew he needed sleep. But a pervasive amount of brain activity never mixed well with rest. Not for him, not for Fiddleford - not for anyone really. And he had more than enough on his mind.

"Yeah well ... your a robot," Stan yawned again, then slid down and rested his head on Ford's shoulder. "A real - tin man ... you know that?" His voice was laced with exhaustion and he closed his eyes.

Ford wrapped his arm around his brother and rested his head on Stan's. He was a little hesitant to be so close. He was sure that he'd been the cause of this night time episode in the first place. He felt the familiar urge to get up and walk away. To take off running and never look back. To keep Stan safe from their greatest threat. Ford.

And just as usual it was a rock in his gut - too heavy to act on. To much dread associated with the execution. Too much cowardice.

" ... Ford?"

Stan's voice was nothing more than a breathy whisper. Ford almost hadn't heard him, but replied just the same.

"Mm?"

Stan pulled up his legs and turned in closer. Ford adjusted his hold. He waited for Stan to respond and let the seconds tick by as his brother was silent for once.

" ... Did - did you really mean what you said about - about the ... ," Stan trailed off

He felt Stan tense as he hid his face further into his arm. Ford looked down at him concerned. He waited for Stan to finish the thought, but his mind raced as he tried to remember everything he could have possibly told Stanley to elicit distress.

Had he called him stupid recently? An idiot? Useless?

He sure hoped not. Maybe Stan's dream had been about the night he got kicked out. Maybe Ford had done more than just turn his back on him. Maybe he'd entered in merciless banter that only berated Stan over and over and over again. The possibilities were endless, and in a nightmare built on pure imagination anything could happen.

" - on the ship ... did you mean when - when you said that - that I ... ," Stan gripped Ford's arm as he turned to look back out at the dark gloom. His eyes were more unfocused than usual as if replaying a hazy memory - or a well worn dream. Stan frowned and shivered at the thoughts running through his mind. Ford couldn't stop himself from wrapping his other arm around Stan to hold him closer to his chest.

The ship. His mind replayed their conversation back on the ship. He wished Stan would just spit it out. He wanted to ease whatever burden plagued his brother's mind. He wanted to know what he'd said so he could tell Stan he hadn't meant it. Whatever Stan was worrying about Ford was just an idiot. He hadn't meant to put it like that.

Stan held himself close to rest comfortably in Ford's arms, but he was gazing at his own hands - assaulted by an unrelenting accusation.

"Did you - mean it ... when you said the portal wasn't either if our faults? That it wasn't ... _my_ fault?"

One of Ford's arms slipped down.

_Oh, Lee ..._

And suddenly he felt awful. He felt awful for feeling awful. He felt awful that he'd been letting his regret consume him again. Because here Stanley was, feeling guilty when nothing was his fault. Nothing should ever be his fault. But Stan still felt responsible and Ford still felt the same self-reproach and suddenly it was like their conversation had never happened because Ford couldn't stave off the guilt.

He could feel Stan waiting for his answer beneath his arms. His brother knew what he was going to say, he knew what the answer was, he knew what Ford's answer was of course always going to be. But Stan still needed to hear him say it, and that understanding made Ford ache.

"Yes," he put his chin on Stan's head and willed his brother to feel the power behind his quiet tone. "I meant every word Lee,"

Stan nodded. He stared at his fingers balled against Ford's chest. Ford looked at him frowning.

"Do you ... believe me?"

Stan bit his lip. His gaze wandered away again.

"I ... I think so," Stan closed his eyes. "I want to,"

Ford guessed that's how things were now. He wished one talk could fix them, but he should have known better. At least now they weren't avoiding the real issue. And Ford suddenly wondered how many times Stan let his doubts fester in his mind to his own detriment. How many times he let Ford sleep as the question grew, without ever letting Ford help ease his consciousness with a simple remedy.

But Stan was nothing less than a mirror of Ford himself. As much as they focused on one twin or the other, they both struggled with the same thing.

Ford did the same thing. And knowing why Stan did what he did, didn't make things better - it made them worse. Because he knew how terrible it felt to be on the receiving end of that kind of silence.

But Stan was trying. He was making the effort. And Ford was left with no alternative but to repay the favor. He attempted to let go of his rueful convictions for the moment, and tried to remember that Stan didn't blame him. That as much as his brother should hate him, he didn't. He tried to focus on that and let himself not worry about all the millions of ways he could have done things better. All of the trillions of ways he could have helped Stan and not hurt him.

Stan took in a breathed then relaxed.

"Guess it's in the past then, isn't it?"

Ford closed his eyes. The past was a fickle thing. It was always there. Something he couldn't change.

"Mm,"

Stan nodded, and glanced at the forest once more. Then he shifted so he could lay his head against Ford comfortably. He steadied his breath and closed his eyes.

Ford kept still as the minutes passed. Stan slipped back asleep and he soon felt the steady rise and fall of his brother's chest. Despite any of Ford's previous notions, he also found himself slowly drifting off - comforted by Stan's rhythmic breathing.

***

"Ahahahah!" He was screaming.

It always started with him screaming.

"Stanley! Oh, my gosh! I'm so sorry. Are you alright - ," Ford got cut off by Stan's sudden fist.

The anger that was pumping through his entire body clouded his mind, and not for the first time he willed himself to _think_ about what he was doing!

Ford stumbled back, knocking into the lever and flipping it on. Stan got to his feet, his shoulder sizzling into a blistering inferno.

It was so sharp, and even this memory - yanked forward by a dream - was tainted by a fear of the heat.

The pain was physical, and mental, and any other way it might consume him. He couldn't keep his face from contorting in anger, and he spied the fallen journal. He glanced at his brother and the lava rage boiled inside him.

The detached part of him - the one that knew this nightmare was just another dream - urged himself to see past the blinding rage. Instead he reached down and slipped up the book. He held his aching shoulder and stepped up to Ford who was rising to his feet.

"Some brother you turned out to be," the bitterness dripped from his voice like the tiny flames sparkling through his arm. "You care more about your dumb mysteries than your family," he stared at Ford standing in front of him.

He knew what was about to happen. He told himself to stop. This was the point of no return. His next move would end it all.

"Well then you can have them!" He would have screamed if the nightmare had let him. Instead he had to endure the feeling of shoving the journal into Ford's chest, and watching as his brother fell back. The lack of gravity took him and it was all too late.

He had his body back - the frozen curse of the dream broke when it no longer matter what he did.

His face erupted in horror as Stanford wobbled in the air. He could hear the fear in his brother's voice as he called out to him.

"Stanley - Stanley! Help me!"

"Woah oh, no! What do I do?"

"Stanley!" Ford looked behind him at the glowing light he was being sucked into. He looked terrified of what might be on the other side. "Stanley do something!" Ford tossed him his journal as if that could help.

But it couldn't. It never did. It never would. How many times did he have to go through this nightmare? How many times would his mind make him relive watching Stanford be thrown into the portal?

It was agony. He could never think fast enough. He could never save Ford. He stared helpless as the electric light sucked him in with the most unearthly noise.

Not again. He wanted to turn away. He couldn't stand going through this _again_. Knowing Ford would be trapped on the other side. Stan would be there. On earth. Blasted back by the force of the closing portal. Alone.

"Stanley!"

He squeezed his eyes shut - he couldn't do it. He couldn't watch. He'd just gotten him back! He couldn't lose him again!

And it was there in the blackness that the answer became clear. It was as if time slowed down. For a moment everything finally made sense.

Without opening his eyes he jumped forward - sailing after his brother in a blind leap of faith.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end?
> 
> It's never the end. 
> 
> But this was also super fun to write, and I don't think I can stop. I'm gonna make another part and I'll have to link it back to this when it's ready. 
> 
> Technically the only way to continue this properly is for them to bump into ReversePortalStan! 
> 
> And then after that I want to write about Stanley and Bill. 
> 
> So ... I'll see I guess.


End file.
